7 hours ago
Chapter Two - Shopping for Ravi, an Act of Kindness
The first rays of dawn filtered through the small window of Ravi's room, a cramped space in the corner of the apartment floor that smelled of old wood and his own masculine scent. He woke with a throbbing hardness between his legs, a phantom sensation of the woman from the photograph in his mind. He palmed himself briefly, a low groan escaping his lips, before forcing himself up. Today was about more than fleeting fantasies; it was about laying the foundation.
A soft knock, almost timid, echoed on his door. "Ravi bhaiya?" Chitra's voice was muffled. "Madam has asked you to come for breakfast."
Ravi adjusted his trousers, the fabric straining against his morning erection, and opened the door. He offered the young maid what he hoped was a disarming smile. "Thank you, Chitra. I will be right there."
The dining room was a world away from his humble quarters. A large, polished wooden table gleamed under the soft glow of a designer chandelier. Ravi sat, the plush chair enveloping him, his eyes immediately beginning their reconnaissance. They scanned the apartment, not as a driver, but as a predator surveying his territory. His gaze lingered on a pair of Ankita's sandals left carelessly near the door – delicate strappy things with a slight heel. He pictured her feet sliding into them, the arch of her sole, the delicate toes... He felt a fresh stirring in his loins and shifted in his chair, focusing on the plate of idli and sambar before him.
Just as he was finishing, Ankita entered the room. The morning light caught her, and Ravi's breath hitched. She wore a simple cotton saree in a soft shade of peach, the thin fabric clinging to the swell of her hips. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face and neck, drawing his eyes to the delicate skin there. Even in this casual attire, she was a goddess.
"Good morning, Ravi," she said, her voice warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of their first meeting. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well, Mrs. Gupta," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the curve of her breasts visible above the neckline of her simple cotton blouse. The fabric was thin, and he could just make out the darker shadow of her areolas. "The bed is comfortable, and the room is quiet."
"I am glad to hear it," she said, sitting down opposite him. The way she moved, the graceful settling of her body, made his pulse race. "Today, I need to go to the mall for some shopping. You will drive me."
"Of course, Mrs. Gupta," Ravi said, his mind already racing with possibilities.
The drive to the mall was his first opportunity. He kept his eyes on the bustling Mumbai traffic, but he was acutely aware of her beside him in the back seat, the scent of her jasmine perfume filling the car.
"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Gupta," he began, his voice carefully modulated to sound wistful. "It reminds me of... of what I once had."
Ankita leaned forward slightly, her reflection appearing in the rearview mirror. "You were married before?"
Ravi nodded, letting his voice grow heavy with manufactured emotion. "Yes. My wife... her name was Meena. She was the light of my life. And our son, little Rohan... he was everything to me." He paused, letting the silence hang between them, thick with his supposed grief. "One day, I came home from work, and they were gone. She had left me for another man, taking our son with him. I searched for months, but... they vanished into the city."
Ankita's expression softened with genuine sympathy. "That is... terrible, Ravi. I cannot imagine such pain."
Ravi risked a glance in the mirror, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he had summoned with practiced ease. "It destroyed me, Mrs. Gupta. I was a good husband, a devoted father. But it wasn't enough. Since then, I have been alone, just... existing." The lie tasted sweet on his tongue, especially when he saw the pity in her eyes. This was working better than he had imagined.
At the mall, Ravi stayed close to Ankita, his hand occasionally "accidentally" brushing against hers as they navigated the crowds. He watched with primal satisfaction as other men's eyes followed her. A young man walking with his girlfriend stumbled, his eyes glued to Ankita's swaying hips. A security guard straightened up, his gaze fixed on the gentle bounce of her breasts with each step. Ravi felt a surge of possessive pride, as if she were already his property, and these other men were merely acknowledging his claim.
As they entered a high-end clothing store, Ankita turned to him. "Ravi, you cannot continue to wear the same two shirts. Please, choose some new outfits for yourself. Consider it a... welcome gift."
Ravi's eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Oh, Mrs. Gupta, I couldn't possibly. It is too much."
"Nonsense," she insisted, her tone firm but kind. "I insist. You are part of our household now, and I want you to look presentable."
As Ravi browsed through the selection of shirts and trousers, he kept one eye on Ankita. He watched as she examined a deep blue silk saree, holding it against herself. The image of her in that shimmering fabric, clinging to her 36-28-38 figure, sent a jolt of pure desire through him. He imagined her as his wife, wearing that saree just for him, her body adorned with the gold jewelry he would buy her, her eyes dark with desire for him...
His mind went into overdrive. He imagined those magnificent breasts in his hands, their weight, their warmth, her nipples hardening against his palms. He pictured himself untying the knot of her petticoat, his hands sliding down to cup those perfect, round buttocks, squeezing them, parting them, his fingers exploring the forbidden cleft between them. He would bend her over, lift that saree, and...
"Ravi? Are you alright?" Ankita's voice broke through his vivid fantasy.
He blinked, realizing he had been staring at her, his mouth slightly agape. "Yes, Mrs. Gupta. Just... thinking of my Meena. This saree... she would have loved it." The lie came smoothly, wrapping his lust in a cloak of grief.
Ankita's expression softened further. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to..."
"No, no," he said quickly. "It is good to remember. Please, do not mind me." He gestured to the clothes. "Shall I choose these?"
She smiled, not noticing the hunger that had returned to his eyes. "Yes, please. I will not take no for an answer."
As they left the store with several new, more expensive outfits for Ravi, he felt a surge of triumph. This was working. She was softening, warming to him. He had successfully transformed himself from a lecherous stranger into a tragic, loyal man in her eyes. Each moment of manufactured grief was an investment. Soon, very soon, the widow would be his to claim, her body his to worship, her conservative nature a challenge to be overcome. The hunt continued, and each small victory brought him closer to his ultimate prize.
The first rays of dawn filtered through the small window of Ravi's room, a cramped space in the corner of the apartment floor that smelled of old wood and his own masculine scent. He woke with a throbbing hardness between his legs, a phantom sensation of the woman from the photograph in his mind. He palmed himself briefly, a low groan escaping his lips, before forcing himself up. Today was about more than fleeting fantasies; it was about laying the foundation.
A soft knock, almost timid, echoed on his door. "Ravi bhaiya?" Chitra's voice was muffled. "Madam has asked you to come for breakfast."
Ravi adjusted his trousers, the fabric straining against his morning erection, and opened the door. He offered the young maid what he hoped was a disarming smile. "Thank you, Chitra. I will be right there."
The dining room was a world away from his humble quarters. A large, polished wooden table gleamed under the soft glow of a designer chandelier. Ravi sat, the plush chair enveloping him, his eyes immediately beginning their reconnaissance. They scanned the apartment, not as a driver, but as a predator surveying his territory. His gaze lingered on a pair of Ankita's sandals left carelessly near the door – delicate strappy things with a slight heel. He pictured her feet sliding into them, the arch of her sole, the delicate toes... He felt a fresh stirring in his loins and shifted in his chair, focusing on the plate of idli and sambar before him.
Just as he was finishing, Ankita entered the room. The morning light caught her, and Ravi's breath hitched. She wore a simple cotton saree in a soft shade of peach, the thin fabric clinging to the swell of her hips. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face and neck, drawing his eyes to the delicate skin there. Even in this casual attire, she was a goddess.
"Good morning, Ravi," she said, her voice warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of their first meeting. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well, Mrs. Gupta," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the curve of her breasts visible above the neckline of her simple cotton blouse. The fabric was thin, and he could just make out the darker shadow of her areolas. "The bed is comfortable, and the room is quiet."
"I am glad to hear it," she said, sitting down opposite him. The way she moved, the graceful settling of her body, made his pulse race. "Today, I need to go to the mall for some shopping. You will drive me."
"Of course, Mrs. Gupta," Ravi said, his mind already racing with possibilities.
The drive to the mall was his first opportunity. He kept his eyes on the bustling Mumbai traffic, but he was acutely aware of her beside him in the back seat, the scent of her jasmine perfume filling the car.
"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Gupta," he began, his voice carefully modulated to sound wistful. "It reminds me of... of what I once had."
Ankita leaned forward slightly, her reflection appearing in the rearview mirror. "You were married before?"
Ravi nodded, letting his voice grow heavy with manufactured emotion. "Yes. My wife... her name was Meena. She was the light of my life. And our son, little Rohan... he was everything to me." He paused, letting the silence hang between them, thick with his supposed grief. "One day, I came home from work, and they were gone. She had left me for another man, taking our son with him. I searched for months, but... they vanished into the city."
Ankita's expression softened with genuine sympathy. "That is... terrible, Ravi. I cannot imagine such pain."
Ravi risked a glance in the mirror, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he had summoned with practiced ease. "It destroyed me, Mrs. Gupta. I was a good husband, a devoted father. But it wasn't enough. Since then, I have been alone, just... existing." The lie tasted sweet on his tongue, especially when he saw the pity in her eyes. This was working better than he had imagined.
At the mall, Ravi stayed close to Ankita, his hand occasionally "accidentally" brushing against hers as they navigated the crowds. He watched with primal satisfaction as other men's eyes followed her. A young man walking with his girlfriend stumbled, his eyes glued to Ankita's swaying hips. A security guard straightened up, his gaze fixed on the gentle bounce of her breasts with each step. Ravi felt a surge of possessive pride, as if she were already his property, and these other men were merely acknowledging his claim.
As they entered a high-end clothing store, Ankita turned to him. "Ravi, you cannot continue to wear the same two shirts. Please, choose some new outfits for yourself. Consider it a... welcome gift."
Ravi's eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Oh, Mrs. Gupta, I couldn't possibly. It is too much."
"Nonsense," she insisted, her tone firm but kind. "I insist. You are part of our household now, and I want you to look presentable."
As Ravi browsed through the selection of shirts and trousers, he kept one eye on Ankita. He watched as she examined a deep blue silk saree, holding it against herself. The image of her in that shimmering fabric, clinging to her 36-28-38 figure, sent a jolt of pure desire through him. He imagined her as his wife, wearing that saree just for him, her body adorned with the gold jewelry he would buy her, her eyes dark with desire for him...
His mind went into overdrive. He imagined those magnificent breasts in his hands, their weight, their warmth, her nipples hardening against his palms. He pictured himself untying the knot of her petticoat, his hands sliding down to cup those perfect, round buttocks, squeezing them, parting them, his fingers exploring the forbidden cleft between them. He would bend her over, lift that saree, and...
"Ravi? Are you alright?" Ankita's voice broke through his vivid fantasy.
He blinked, realizing he had been staring at her, his mouth slightly agape. "Yes, Mrs. Gupta. Just... thinking of my Meena. This saree... she would have loved it." The lie came smoothly, wrapping his lust in a cloak of grief.
Ankita's expression softened further. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to..."
"No, no," he said quickly. "It is good to remember. Please, do not mind me." He gestured to the clothes. "Shall I choose these?"
She smiled, not noticing the hunger that had returned to his eyes. "Yes, please. I will not take no for an answer."
As they left the store with several new, more expensive outfits for Ravi, he felt a surge of triumph. This was working. She was softening, warming to him. He had successfully transformed himself from a lecherous stranger into a tragic, loyal man in her eyes. Each moment of manufactured grief was an investment. Soon, very soon, the widow would be his to claim, her body his to worship, her conservative nature a challenge to be overcome. The hunt continued, and each small victory brought him closer to his ultimate prize.
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