Chapter One - Introduction and First Meeting
Ravi Das, a man of forty-five years, stood before the mirror that morning. His face, once handsome, now bore the creases of disappointment and the harshness of a life gone wrong. His first wife had vanished into the night with their only son and her secret lover. His second wife could not bear him so she filled a domestic violence case against him and securing a divorce, stripping him of both dignity and assets.
Since then, Ravi had become a predator of the streets. His eyes, dark and hungry, roamed the bustling markets and crowded lanes of Mumbai, devouring the sight of women with a primal hunger. He watched their buttocks sway beneath sarees and salwars as they walked, each step a hypnotic rhythm that made his loins ache. His mind was a master at stripping them bare, peeling away the cotton and silk to reveal the soft, warm flesh beneath. He imagined the weight and shape of their breasts from the tantalizing outlines against fabric, his fingers twitching as he pictured himself cupping them, feeling their nipples harden against his palms. His fantasies grew bolder with each passing day, evolving from fleeting glances to detailed scenarios of taking them against the walls of narrow alleys or on the floors of dusty shops. During his lonely nights, he'd lose himself in pornographic worlds, his hand working furiously as he watched women being used and pleasured in ways he craved. These sessions became his only release, his only escape, until they ultimately cost him his previous job when his employer walked in and found him with his pants around his ankles, his eyes glued to the screen as he stroked himself to completion.
Today brought new promise. Ravi had manipulated Mohan, the elderly previous driver at Swades Apartments, into recommending him for the position. From the old man, he'd learned that the apartment belonged to the late Mr. Gupta, who'd died of a heart attack three years ago at 52, leaving behind his widow Ankita and a young maid.
The elevator ride to the seventh floor was a torment of anticipation. Ravi pictured the widow – lonely, vulnerable, perhaps desperate for a man's touch after three years of widowhood. He adjusted his crotch, already stirring at the thought.
The door opened to reveal Chitra, an 18-year-old maid who greeted him with a simple, nervous nod. Her eyes, wide and innocent, darted away from his intense gaze as she led him inside, her movements quick and efficient. Ravi followed, his mind already shifting to the task at hand.
Ravi settled into the plush sofa, the expensive fabric a stark contrast to his worn trousers. His mind calculated his opening salary demand – 25,000 rupees would be a good start. His eyes scanned the lavishly decorated room, landing on a large family photograph on the wall. There stood the late Mr. Gupta with his family, but Ravi's gaze locked on the woman beside him.
Could this be Mrs. Gupta? The goddess in yellow saree? Though dbangd conservatively, her figure was unmistakable – breasts full and proud against the blouse, hips curving in a way that made Ravi's breath catch. He felt a stirring in his loins as he imagined what lay beneath those layers of modesty.
Footsteps approached – soft, deliberate. Ravi's pulse quickened as Mrs. Ankita Gupta entered the room.
Time seemed to slow as Ravi took her in. She wore a cream-colored saree that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her face, though bare of makeup, was a masterpiece of classical Indian beauty – high cheekbones, full lips that begged to be kissed, and eyes that held both innocence and a hint of worldly knowledge. Her body, which Ravi mentally measured at a perfect 36-28-38, defied her 42 years and the fact that she had a 19-year-old son.
"Namaste," she said, her voice like honey mixed with spices.
The word barely left her lips before Ravi's dick sprang to life, hardening instantly against the fabric of his trousers. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping she wouldn't notice his obvious arousal.
"Namaste, Mrs. Gupta. I am Ravi Das," he managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse. "Mohan recommended me."
Ankita's eyes swept over him, and Ravi could see the flicker of disappointment in her expression. She had clearly expected someone younger, more presentable. Her gaze lingered on his slightly disheveled appearance, the faint sweat stains on his collar, the way his eyes seemed to undress her even as she stood there.
"Yes, Mohan mentioned you," she said, her tone polite but distant. "Please, sit."
Ravi sat, his erection still pressing insistently against his pants. He tried to discreetly adjust himself as she continued.
"Mohan spoke of your experience, but..." she paused, her disapproval evident. "We usually prefer someone more... presentable. However, given his recommendation, I am willing to give you a chance."
As she spoke, she moved to adjust a curtain, giving Ravi a perfect view of her profile. The saree's fabric stretched taut across her buttocks, revealing their full, round shape. Ravi's eyes devoured the sight, his mind already calculating how he might get closer.
"Tell me, Ravi," she said, turning back to face him. "How long have you been driving in Mumbai?"
"Twenty years, Mrs. Gupta," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the swell of her breasts visible above the neckline of her blouse. "I know this city like the back of my hand."
She seemed uncomfortable under his gaze, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that inadvertently pushed her breasts together, creating an even more enticing cleavage. Ravi felt his erection throb in response.
"I see," she said, her voice slightly strained. "And your previous employer... why did you leave that position?"
Ravi hesitated, then decided on a half-truth. "There was a... misunderstanding, Mrs. Gupta. My employer and I had different expectations about the job."
Ankita's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of misunderstanding?"
Ravi met her gaze directly, letting his eyes convey a hint of the passion that burned within him. "Let's just say that I am a man of... strong appetites, Mrs. Gupta. And my previous employer was not comfortable with that."
She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers playing with the pallu of her saree. "I see. Well, here we value discretion above all else."
Ravi saw a flicker of something in her eyes – not just discomfort, but pity. He decided to press his advantage, changing his approach from predatory to pathetic.
"Actually, Mrs. Gupta," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned forward slightly, "the truth is... my previous employer found himself in a... compromising situation. With a woman who was not his wife."
Ankita's eyes widened slightly, her discomfort momentarily replaced by curiosity.
"He panicked," Ravi continued, letting his voice tremble slightly with feigned emotion. "He needed someone to take the fall, and I... I was loyal. I had served his family for ten years. So when he begged me to say that it was me, that I had brought the woman into his home... I agreed."
He looked down at his hands, as if unable to meet her gaze. "I accepted the blame to save his reputation, his marriage. And in return... he let me go with a reference."
Ravi looked up then, allowing a single tear to glisten in the corner of his eye. "I am a man of my word, Mrs. Gupta. Loyal to a fault. But it has cost me much."
Ankita's expression softened, the suspicion in her eyes replaced by sympathy. She reached out instinctively, then pulled back, remembering herself.
"I... I had no idea, Ravi," she said, her voice gentle. "That is... that is a noble sacrifice."
Ravi seized the moment. "I believe in loyalty, Mrs. Gupta. In doing what is right, even when it costs us dearly. Your husband... may his soul rest in peace... Mohan told me he was a good man. A man of honor. That is the kind of family I wish to serve."
As he spoke, he let his eyes drift to the family photograph on the wall, then back to her. "I see that same honor in you, Mrs. Gupta. In the way you have kept this household, raised your son alone after such a terrible loss."
Ankita's eyes welled with tears at the mention of her husband. The discomfort that had radiated from her moments ago vanished, replaced by a warmth that Ravi found intoxicating.
"You are right to value discretion," Ravi continued, his voice soft but firm. "I understand more than anyone the importance of keeping family secrets safe. I would never betray the trust of those who employ me."
She named a salary that made Ravi's heart sink. "Fifteen thousand rupees per month, with room and board included."
It was far less than he had hoped for, but as Ravi looked at Mrs. Gupta – at the way her saree dbangd over those perfect hips, at the hint of cleavage visible above her blouse – he knew he would accept. This wasn't just about money anymore; it was about proximity, about opportunity.
"I accept, Mrs. Gupta," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude now. "I am very grateful for this opportunity."
Ankita seemed surprised by his quick acceptance but nodded. "Chitra will show you the driver's quarters and explain your duties. We expect punctuality and discretion."
"Of course, Mrs. Gupta," Ravi replied, his eyes meeting hers directly. "You will find me very... discreet."
As she turned to leave, Ravi's gaze followed the sway of her hips, the gentle movement of her buttocks beneath the saree. He imagined her in that red saree he'd pictured earlier, her lips painted crimson, her body arching beneath his.
The hunt had begun, and Ravi Das was a patient hunter. He would take his time, watch, wait, and when the moment was right, he would claim his prize. And now, he had laid the perfect foundation of trust and sympathy.
Ravi Das, a man of forty-five years, stood before the mirror that morning. His face, once handsome, now bore the creases of disappointment and the harshness of a life gone wrong. His first wife had vanished into the night with their only son and her secret lover. His second wife could not bear him so she filled a domestic violence case against him and securing a divorce, stripping him of both dignity and assets.
Since then, Ravi had become a predator of the streets. His eyes, dark and hungry, roamed the bustling markets and crowded lanes of Mumbai, devouring the sight of women with a primal hunger. He watched their buttocks sway beneath sarees and salwars as they walked, each step a hypnotic rhythm that made his loins ache. His mind was a master at stripping them bare, peeling away the cotton and silk to reveal the soft, warm flesh beneath. He imagined the weight and shape of their breasts from the tantalizing outlines against fabric, his fingers twitching as he pictured himself cupping them, feeling their nipples harden against his palms. His fantasies grew bolder with each passing day, evolving from fleeting glances to detailed scenarios of taking them against the walls of narrow alleys or on the floors of dusty shops. During his lonely nights, he'd lose himself in pornographic worlds, his hand working furiously as he watched women being used and pleasured in ways he craved. These sessions became his only release, his only escape, until they ultimately cost him his previous job when his employer walked in and found him with his pants around his ankles, his eyes glued to the screen as he stroked himself to completion.
Today brought new promise. Ravi had manipulated Mohan, the elderly previous driver at Swades Apartments, into recommending him for the position. From the old man, he'd learned that the apartment belonged to the late Mr. Gupta, who'd died of a heart attack three years ago at 52, leaving behind his widow Ankita and a young maid.
The elevator ride to the seventh floor was a torment of anticipation. Ravi pictured the widow – lonely, vulnerable, perhaps desperate for a man's touch after three years of widowhood. He adjusted his crotch, already stirring at the thought.
The door opened to reveal Chitra, an 18-year-old maid who greeted him with a simple, nervous nod. Her eyes, wide and innocent, darted away from his intense gaze as she led him inside, her movements quick and efficient. Ravi followed, his mind already shifting to the task at hand.
Ravi settled into the plush sofa, the expensive fabric a stark contrast to his worn trousers. His mind calculated his opening salary demand – 25,000 rupees would be a good start. His eyes scanned the lavishly decorated room, landing on a large family photograph on the wall. There stood the late Mr. Gupta with his family, but Ravi's gaze locked on the woman beside him.
Could this be Mrs. Gupta? The goddess in yellow saree? Though dbangd conservatively, her figure was unmistakable – breasts full and proud against the blouse, hips curving in a way that made Ravi's breath catch. He felt a stirring in his loins as he imagined what lay beneath those layers of modesty.
Footsteps approached – soft, deliberate. Ravi's pulse quickened as Mrs. Ankita Gupta entered the room.
Time seemed to slow as Ravi took her in. She wore a cream-colored saree that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her face, though bare of makeup, was a masterpiece of classical Indian beauty – high cheekbones, full lips that begged to be kissed, and eyes that held both innocence and a hint of worldly knowledge. Her body, which Ravi mentally measured at a perfect 36-28-38, defied her 42 years and the fact that she had a 19-year-old son.
"Namaste," she said, her voice like honey mixed with spices.
The word barely left her lips before Ravi's dick sprang to life, hardening instantly against the fabric of his trousers. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping she wouldn't notice his obvious arousal.
"Namaste, Mrs. Gupta. I am Ravi Das," he managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse. "Mohan recommended me."
Ankita's eyes swept over him, and Ravi could see the flicker of disappointment in her expression. She had clearly expected someone younger, more presentable. Her gaze lingered on his slightly disheveled appearance, the faint sweat stains on his collar, the way his eyes seemed to undress her even as she stood there.
"Yes, Mohan mentioned you," she said, her tone polite but distant. "Please, sit."
Ravi sat, his erection still pressing insistently against his pants. He tried to discreetly adjust himself as she continued.
"Mohan spoke of your experience, but..." she paused, her disapproval evident. "We usually prefer someone more... presentable. However, given his recommendation, I am willing to give you a chance."
As she spoke, she moved to adjust a curtain, giving Ravi a perfect view of her profile. The saree's fabric stretched taut across her buttocks, revealing their full, round shape. Ravi's eyes devoured the sight, his mind already calculating how he might get closer.
"Tell me, Ravi," she said, turning back to face him. "How long have you been driving in Mumbai?"
"Twenty years, Mrs. Gupta," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the swell of her breasts visible above the neckline of her blouse. "I know this city like the back of my hand."
She seemed uncomfortable under his gaze, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that inadvertently pushed her breasts together, creating an even more enticing cleavage. Ravi felt his erection throb in response.
"I see," she said, her voice slightly strained. "And your previous employer... why did you leave that position?"
Ravi hesitated, then decided on a half-truth. "There was a... misunderstanding, Mrs. Gupta. My employer and I had different expectations about the job."
Ankita's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of misunderstanding?"
Ravi met her gaze directly, letting his eyes convey a hint of the passion that burned within him. "Let's just say that I am a man of... strong appetites, Mrs. Gupta. And my previous employer was not comfortable with that."
She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers playing with the pallu of her saree. "I see. Well, here we value discretion above all else."
Ravi saw a flicker of something in her eyes – not just discomfort, but pity. He decided to press his advantage, changing his approach from predatory to pathetic.
"Actually, Mrs. Gupta," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned forward slightly, "the truth is... my previous employer found himself in a... compromising situation. With a woman who was not his wife."
Ankita's eyes widened slightly, her discomfort momentarily replaced by curiosity.
"He panicked," Ravi continued, letting his voice tremble slightly with feigned emotion. "He needed someone to take the fall, and I... I was loyal. I had served his family for ten years. So when he begged me to say that it was me, that I had brought the woman into his home... I agreed."
He looked down at his hands, as if unable to meet her gaze. "I accepted the blame to save his reputation, his marriage. And in return... he let me go with a reference."
Ravi looked up then, allowing a single tear to glisten in the corner of his eye. "I am a man of my word, Mrs. Gupta. Loyal to a fault. But it has cost me much."
Ankita's expression softened, the suspicion in her eyes replaced by sympathy. She reached out instinctively, then pulled back, remembering herself.
"I... I had no idea, Ravi," she said, her voice gentle. "That is... that is a noble sacrifice."
Ravi seized the moment. "I believe in loyalty, Mrs. Gupta. In doing what is right, even when it costs us dearly. Your husband... may his soul rest in peace... Mohan told me he was a good man. A man of honor. That is the kind of family I wish to serve."
As he spoke, he let his eyes drift to the family photograph on the wall, then back to her. "I see that same honor in you, Mrs. Gupta. In the way you have kept this household, raised your son alone after such a terrible loss."
Ankita's eyes welled with tears at the mention of her husband. The discomfort that had radiated from her moments ago vanished, replaced by a warmth that Ravi found intoxicating.
"You are right to value discretion," Ravi continued, his voice soft but firm. "I understand more than anyone the importance of keeping family secrets safe. I would never betray the trust of those who employ me."
She named a salary that made Ravi's heart sink. "Fifteen thousand rupees per month, with room and board included."
It was far less than he had hoped for, but as Ravi looked at Mrs. Gupta – at the way her saree dbangd over those perfect hips, at the hint of cleavage visible above her blouse – he knew he would accept. This wasn't just about money anymore; it was about proximity, about opportunity.
"I accept, Mrs. Gupta," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude now. "I am very grateful for this opportunity."
Ankita seemed surprised by his quick acceptance but nodded. "Chitra will show you the driver's quarters and explain your duties. We expect punctuality and discretion."
"Of course, Mrs. Gupta," Ravi replied, his eyes meeting hers directly. "You will find me very... discreet."
As she turned to leave, Ravi's gaze followed the sway of her hips, the gentle movement of her buttocks beneath the saree. He imagined her in that red saree he'd pictured earlier, her lips painted crimson, her body arching beneath his.
The hunt had begun, and Ravi Das was a patient hunter. He would take his time, watch, wait, and when the moment was right, he would claim his prize. And now, he had laid the perfect foundation of trust and sympathy.
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