Adultery The Cheeky Chronicles Vol. 1 - The making of a Cuckold

[sakurasan]

###Cheeks The Flirt

Her triumph at the dance competition had turned everything upside down. Soon enough, admirers began to gather - young men lingering in the shadowy corners of the library, those who kept pace with her as she walked towards the hostel gate. Now, proposals came directly and boldly to her face.
One afternoon, deep among the library stacks, a tall boy from the cricket team stepped into her path. He took her hand with surprising gentleness and pressed his lips to the back of it, the warmth lingering like a promise.
“I want you to be mine,” he said. “Say yes, and we’ll make the entire college burn with envy.”
Meera withdrew her hand slowly, her smile soft but unmoved. “I have my studies,” she replied, “and my dance. Perhaps ask again when college is behind us.”
He left with a disappointed shrug.
That night, the server room door clicked shut behind her. She wore a black crop top that ended high on her ribs and a mini skirt that rode upward as she perched on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, thighs pressed together.
Madan turned from the screen. “Tell me about your day, Cheeks.”
Meera offered her hand, the back turned toward him like a silent admission.
“A boy cornered me in the library today,” she said. “He proposed. To seal his words, he kissed me right here.” Her free fingers indicated the spot just beneath the knuckle. “He thought it might sway me.”
Madan encircled her wrist with gentle yet assured fingers. “Here?”
She nodded, her gaze fixed intently on him. “That’s exactly where I want it. My Mama needs to cleanse those marks - erasing every trace of another boy’s touch, and reclaiming that space with your kisses until it becomes yours and yours alone.”
He drew her hand to his lips and kissed that precise point, beginning softly before the contact deepened. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate circle across her skin, unhurried, savoring the day’s faint salt and the shadow of another’s fleeting claim. Meera watched him closely, one thigh easing beneath the desk as the skirt hem crept higher, desire pooling deep inside her.
“Again, mama,” she whispered, voice growing richer. “He held it longer. Be thorough. Leave no trace of him.”
Madan pressed deeper, his tongue moistening the skin until it shone, breath brushing her knuckles. When he finally drew away, their eyes connected across the narrow distance.
“Clean now?” he asked softly.
She rotated her hand to present the palm. “He held this side too. Make it wholly yours, mama. Cover every place his lips dared to go.”
Madan took his turn and pressed his lips against the center of her palm, his tongue gliding smoothly along a carefully traced path from the tender inner wrist up to her fingertips. Each stroke was deliberate and full of respect, as if he were erasing not just memories but any lingering doubts about her place by his side.
Her breathing accelerated; her free hand gripped the desk edge tighter.
“More boys will try tomorrow,” she continued, her tone growing husky and teasingly true. “They see me walking alone now, without Mama by my side to scare them off. You’ll have to cleanse me each night like this - erase every stray touch with your mouth until only yours remains.”
He released her hand and moved between her parted knees, palms settling on the bare warmth of her thighs just above the skirt hem. The space between them thickened with building tension.
“I will,” he vowed, voice low and firm. “Every evening, every spot they dare claim, until you carry nothing but my touch.”
She leaned nearer, lips grazing his ear as a gentle laugh escaped. “Be ready to lick more like a good puppy, mama. Anjali says I am getting a reputation built among boys.”
Madan’s heart throbbed and throat became dry. “What might be that reputation?”
Meera’s smile curved slow and wicked, her fingers drifting downward to rest lightly over the swelling ridge in his lap. “Many girls will scream if a boy accidentally touches her hip, but I just laugh when someone even presses my boobs.”
The confession struck like flint on kindling. Madan’s breath broke; his hips moved involuntarily under her touch as the ache sharpened into something exquisite and unbearable.