Scene 1
Rohan: We should pick the silver invitations. The gold looks cheap.
Kritika stared at the piece of chicken on her plate. It was dry. The conversation was drier. For the last hour, Rohan had been talking about their wedding. Their wedding. It felt like he was planning a party for two other people.
Kritika: I don’t care.
Rohan: What do you mean you don’t care? It’s our wedding, Kritika. This is the biggest day of our lives. You have to care about the invitations.
She looked up from her plate and really looked at him. His face was earnest. His hair was perfectly combed. He was a good man. A safe man. The kind of man who worries about the color of paper. The thought of spending the next fifty years talking about paper colors made her feel sick.
Kritika: We’re done.
Rohan blinked. He put his fork down slowly.
Rohan: Done with dinner? I thought we could have dessert.
Kritika: No. We’re done. You and me. It’s over.
Rohan: What? Kritika, what are you talking about? We’re getting married in a year. I… I love you.
The words didn't hurt her. They didn't do anything. They were just sounds. For the first time in four years, she felt absolutely nothing for him. The breakup with her last boyfriend had destroyed her. This? This was like turning off a boring TV show.
Kritika: I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did. I’m leaving.
She stood up, took her plate to the kitchen, and walked out of his apartment without looking back. The silence in her own apartment was a relief. It was a clean, empty space.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. But it wasn’t because of sadness. It was because she felt… nothing. A complete blank. She needed a shock. She needed to feel something, anything, even if it was bad.
She opened Tinder.
She hadn't used it in years. It felt dirty and exciting. She swiped left, left, left. So many smiling, safe faces. So many men holding fish or standing with their mothers. She wanted the opposite of that.
And then she saw him.
Vansh, 26.
No bio. Just three photos. He was 6'1", tall and lean with dark, messy hair. In one photo, he was leaning against a car, a smirk on his face that wasn't friendly. It was a challenge. It was a promise of trouble.
She swiped right.
It’s a Match!
Her heart gave a little jump. A few seconds later, a message appeared.
Vansh: You look like you want to break something.
Kritika: Maybe I just want to be broken.
The conversation flowed like that for an hour. Dark, direct, with no bullshit. He didn't ask about her job or her hobbies. He asked what she was scared of. He asked what her dirtiest thought was. He made her feel seen in a way Rohan never had.
Vansh: I want to see you. Now.
Kritika: I’m in my pajamas.
Vansh: I don’t care. Get dressed. I’ll pick you up. Send me the location in Delhi.
She did it without thinking. She put on a simple black dress and waited by the road like a criminal. When his car pulled up, he didn't say hello. He just leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
The car ride was silent. The music was low and dark. She could feel his presence filling the small space. He was bigger than she expected. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The air felt thick with things they weren't saying.
He finally parked in a dark, quiet spot under some trees. It was starting to rain, the drops hitting the windshield like tiny drum beats. He turned off the engine and the world went completely silent. He turned to look at her, and his eyes were even more intense in person.
Vansh: Should I ask… or just do it?
Her breath caught in her throat. Her mind was a warzone of "yes" and "no," but her body had already chosen. She gave a single, sharp nod.
He moved so fast. One hand came up to tangle in her hair, gripping the back of her head, pulling her forward. His other hand went straight to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin there. Then his mouth was on hers.
It was a brutal kiss. Not gentle, not sweet. It was pure hunger. His lips were hard, demanding. His tongue shoved past her teeth, and she let out a moan, opening for him completely. He tasted like whiskey and mint. He tasted like a bad decision, and she had never wanted anything more.
She broke the kiss herself, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were wild. Before he could say a word, her trembling fingers went to her own dress, pulling the fabric down with clumsy, desperate movements.
Her large breasts 34E spilled out into the dim light of the car, her nipples already tight, dark points, fully erect and begging for attention. Vansh stared for a fraction of a second, his pupils dilating. A low, animalistic growl escaped his throat.
He lunged forward, his mouth closing over one nipple instantly. He latched on, sucking hard, his tongue rasping against the sensitive peak. He suckled like a starving baby, pulling her deep into his mouth.
A raw scream ripped from Kritika’s throat. Her head fell back against the headrest, her back arching violently. Pleasure, so sharp and intense it bordered on pain, shot from her nipple straight to her core. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding his head to her breast, silently pleading for more.
Vansh: (muffled, against her skin) Fucking hell… I’m going to leave my marks all over you. So you don’t forget who did this.
His hand left her breast and slid down her body, over her stomach, and straight to the hem of her dress. He pushed the fabric up, his rough palm hot against the soft skin of her thigh. She gasped, her legs falling open for him.
Kritika: Please…
Vansh: Please what? Tell me. I want to hear you beg for it.
His fingers moved higher, pressing against the thin cotton of her panties. She was already soaked. He pushed two fingers against her, right on her clit, and rubbed a slow, torturous circle. Her whole body arched off the seat.
Kritika: Please touch me. Fuck, please put your fingers inside me.
He laughed, a low, dark sound.
Vansh: Good girl.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them to the side. The cool air hit her wet skin, and then his fingers were there. Hot and slick. He pushed one finger inside her, then two. She was so tight, and so, so wet. She cried out as he started to move them in and out, a slow, deep rhythm that made her see stars.
Vansh: You’re so fucking wet for a stranger. You feel so good.
His other hand was still in her hair, holding her in place. He started kissing her again, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his fingers. He was fucking her mouth and her pussy at the same time. It was too much. She was going to come apart right there in his car.
Her hips started to buck against his hand, chasing the feeling. The pleasure was building, hot and sharp, a tight coil in her stomach.
Kritika: I’m going to… I’m so close…
He suddenly pulled his fingers out. She cried out in frustration, the feeling vanishing instantly. She opened her eyes, confused.
Vansh: This car is too small for what I want to do to you. Get out.
He didn't wait. He was out of his door in a second, slamming it shut. The rain was a torrential downpour now, a noisy, silver sheet in the beam of the car's headlights. Kritika’s heart hammered against her ribs as she stumbled out into the cold. The rain hit her instantly, plastering her thin dress to her body, soaking her in seconds.
Vansh grabbed her hand, his grip like steel, and pulled her towards a large tree at the edge of the light.
Vansh: Hands on the tree.
His voice was a low command, barely audible over the storm. She obeyed without a thought, pressing her palms against the wet, rough bark. He was right behind her, his body a wall of heat. He shoved her dress up to her waist and she heard the sound of her wet panties ripping apart. He was already hard, his erection pressing against her bare ass through his jeans.
Kritika: Please, Vansh… fuck me. Please.
He unzipped his jeans, his cock springing free. He guided the thick, hot tip to her entrance.
Vansh: You wanted to feel something? You’re about to feel everything.
He shoved into her with one powerful, brutal thrust. A scream was torn from her throat, swallowed by the storm. He filled her completely, stretching her open. He paused for a heartbeat, then began to move. He fucked her against the tree with a savage, relentless rhythm, pounding into her again and again. The rain poured over them, mixing with their sweat, but all she could feel was the friction of his cock deep inside her, hitting her womb with every stroke.
This went on for what felt like an eternity. He pounded into her for twenty minutes, his pace never slowing. Her legs trembled, her body screaming with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. She felt his pace finally quicken, his grunts becoming harsh against her ear.
Vansh: I’m going to come inside you. Take it all for me.
He gave one final, impossibly deep thrust, his hips grinding into her. She felt his cock pulse, and then a hot, thick flood of his cum filled her from the inside out. He shuddered against her, emptying himself deep within her. He stayed there for a long moment, their ragged breaths mixing with the sound of the rain. She had never felt so full, so claimed, so completely and utterly alive.
Rohan: We should pick the silver invitations. The gold looks cheap.
Kritika stared at the piece of chicken on her plate. It was dry. The conversation was drier. For the last hour, Rohan had been talking about their wedding. Their wedding. It felt like he was planning a party for two other people.
Kritika: I don’t care.
Rohan: What do you mean you don’t care? It’s our wedding, Kritika. This is the biggest day of our lives. You have to care about the invitations.
She looked up from her plate and really looked at him. His face was earnest. His hair was perfectly combed. He was a good man. A safe man. The kind of man who worries about the color of paper. The thought of spending the next fifty years talking about paper colors made her feel sick.
Kritika: We’re done.
Rohan blinked. He put his fork down slowly.
Rohan: Done with dinner? I thought we could have dessert.
Kritika: No. We’re done. You and me. It’s over.
Rohan: What? Kritika, what are you talking about? We’re getting married in a year. I… I love you.
The words didn't hurt her. They didn't do anything. They were just sounds. For the first time in four years, she felt absolutely nothing for him. The breakup with her last boyfriend had destroyed her. This? This was like turning off a boring TV show.
Kritika: I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did. I’m leaving.
She stood up, took her plate to the kitchen, and walked out of his apartment without looking back. The silence in her own apartment was a relief. It was a clean, empty space.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. But it wasn’t because of sadness. It was because she felt… nothing. A complete blank. She needed a shock. She needed to feel something, anything, even if it was bad.
She opened Tinder.
She hadn't used it in years. It felt dirty and exciting. She swiped left, left, left. So many smiling, safe faces. So many men holding fish or standing with their mothers. She wanted the opposite of that.
And then she saw him.
Vansh, 26.
No bio. Just three photos. He was 6'1", tall and lean with dark, messy hair. In one photo, he was leaning against a car, a smirk on his face that wasn't friendly. It was a challenge. It was a promise of trouble.
She swiped right.
It’s a Match!
Her heart gave a little jump. A few seconds later, a message appeared.
Vansh: You look like you want to break something.
Kritika: Maybe I just want to be broken.
The conversation flowed like that for an hour. Dark, direct, with no bullshit. He didn't ask about her job or her hobbies. He asked what she was scared of. He asked what her dirtiest thought was. He made her feel seen in a way Rohan never had.
Vansh: I want to see you. Now.
Kritika: I’m in my pajamas.
Vansh: I don’t care. Get dressed. I’ll pick you up. Send me the location in Delhi.
She did it without thinking. She put on a simple black dress and waited by the road like a criminal. When his car pulled up, he didn't say hello. He just leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
The car ride was silent. The music was low and dark. She could feel his presence filling the small space. He was bigger than she expected. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The air felt thick with things they weren't saying.
He finally parked in a dark, quiet spot under some trees. It was starting to rain, the drops hitting the windshield like tiny drum beats. He turned off the engine and the world went completely silent. He turned to look at her, and his eyes were even more intense in person.
Vansh: Should I ask… or just do it?
Her breath caught in her throat. Her mind was a warzone of "yes" and "no," but her body had already chosen. She gave a single, sharp nod.
He moved so fast. One hand came up to tangle in her hair, gripping the back of her head, pulling her forward. His other hand went straight to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin there. Then his mouth was on hers.
It was a brutal kiss. Not gentle, not sweet. It was pure hunger. His lips were hard, demanding. His tongue shoved past her teeth, and she let out a moan, opening for him completely. He tasted like whiskey and mint. He tasted like a bad decision, and she had never wanted anything more.
She broke the kiss herself, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were wild. Before he could say a word, her trembling fingers went to her own dress, pulling the fabric down with clumsy, desperate movements.
Her large breasts 34E spilled out into the dim light of the car, her nipples already tight, dark points, fully erect and begging for attention. Vansh stared for a fraction of a second, his pupils dilating. A low, animalistic growl escaped his throat.
He lunged forward, his mouth closing over one nipple instantly. He latched on, sucking hard, his tongue rasping against the sensitive peak. He suckled like a starving baby, pulling her deep into his mouth.
A raw scream ripped from Kritika’s throat. Her head fell back against the headrest, her back arching violently. Pleasure, so sharp and intense it bordered on pain, shot from her nipple straight to her core. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding his head to her breast, silently pleading for more.
Vansh: (muffled, against her skin) Fucking hell… I’m going to leave my marks all over you. So you don’t forget who did this.
His hand left her breast and slid down her body, over her stomach, and straight to the hem of her dress. He pushed the fabric up, his rough palm hot against the soft skin of her thigh. She gasped, her legs falling open for him.
Kritika: Please…
Vansh: Please what? Tell me. I want to hear you beg for it.
His fingers moved higher, pressing against the thin cotton of her panties. She was already soaked. He pushed two fingers against her, right on her clit, and rubbed a slow, torturous circle. Her whole body arched off the seat.
Kritika: Please touch me. Fuck, please put your fingers inside me.
He laughed, a low, dark sound.
Vansh: Good girl.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them to the side. The cool air hit her wet skin, and then his fingers were there. Hot and slick. He pushed one finger inside her, then two. She was so tight, and so, so wet. She cried out as he started to move them in and out, a slow, deep rhythm that made her see stars.
Vansh: You’re so fucking wet for a stranger. You feel so good.
His other hand was still in her hair, holding her in place. He started kissing her again, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his fingers. He was fucking her mouth and her pussy at the same time. It was too much. She was going to come apart right there in his car.
Her hips started to buck against his hand, chasing the feeling. The pleasure was building, hot and sharp, a tight coil in her stomach.
Kritika: I’m going to… I’m so close…
He suddenly pulled his fingers out. She cried out in frustration, the feeling vanishing instantly. She opened her eyes, confused.
Vansh: This car is too small for what I want to do to you. Get out.
He didn't wait. He was out of his door in a second, slamming it shut. The rain was a torrential downpour now, a noisy, silver sheet in the beam of the car's headlights. Kritika’s heart hammered against her ribs as she stumbled out into the cold. The rain hit her instantly, plastering her thin dress to her body, soaking her in seconds.
Vansh grabbed her hand, his grip like steel, and pulled her towards a large tree at the edge of the light.
Vansh: Hands on the tree.
His voice was a low command, barely audible over the storm. She obeyed without a thought, pressing her palms against the wet, rough bark. He was right behind her, his body a wall of heat. He shoved her dress up to her waist and she heard the sound of her wet panties ripping apart. He was already hard, his erection pressing against her bare ass through his jeans.
Kritika: Please, Vansh… fuck me. Please.
He unzipped his jeans, his cock springing free. He guided the thick, hot tip to her entrance.
Vansh: You wanted to feel something? You’re about to feel everything.
He shoved into her with one powerful, brutal thrust. A scream was torn from her throat, swallowed by the storm. He filled her completely, stretching her open. He paused for a heartbeat, then began to move. He fucked her against the tree with a savage, relentless rhythm, pounding into her again and again. The rain poured over them, mixing with their sweat, but all she could feel was the friction of his cock deep inside her, hitting her womb with every stroke.
This went on for what felt like an eternity. He pounded into her for twenty minutes, his pace never slowing. Her legs trembled, her body screaming with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. She felt his pace finally quicken, his grunts becoming harsh against her ear.
Vansh: I’m going to come inside you. Take it all for me.
He gave one final, impossibly deep thrust, his hips grinding into her. She felt his cock pulse, and then a hot, thick flood of his cum filled her from the inside out. He shuddered against her, emptying himself deep within her. He stayed there for a long moment, their ragged breaths mixing with the sound of the rain. She had never felt so full, so claimed, so completely and utterly alive.
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