Misc. Erotica The College Story : A Nerd's Ordeal

[rashomon]

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. The content depicted within this story is fictional and does not reflect real events, persons, or behaviors. 

It contains explicit adult themes, including sexual content, strong language, and mature subject matter that may not be suitable for all readers.

The author does not endorse or promote any illegal activities described in this story. Reader discretion is advised.

This work is intended for entertainment purposes only.

Please read responsibly and understand your own personal boundaries.

This is a slow erotic story and explicit sexual content will be involved but not in every chapter. 

Please show your appreciation by liking the post. Comments and suggestions are valuable.

Given time commitments, this story maybe updated once weekly or once in ten days.

Importantly ! Enjoy the story :)

Index

Chapter 1 : The Accommodation Conundrum - Page 1

[rashomon]

Chapter 1 : The Accommodation Conundrum

Her glasses sat neatly on her nose, framing sharp, intelligent eyes that darted nervously around the room. 

Her neatly tied ponytail swayed slightly as she shifted, her posture exuding confidence, yet her hands clenched nervously above the bag in her lap. 
Rashmi Shetty sat upright on the polished wooden bench in the college office, her pretty face now tense with anxiety. 

She wore a simple kurti and jeans—modest, worn from years of frugal living—but her bright smile and determined gaze spoke of her hard-won success. 
She had fought through years of struggle—studying under streetlights, sharing a single room with her brother—to reach this moment. 
Today, she was finally a college student of the prestigious Pinnacle Institute Of Engineering in Belore courtesy of being the top scorer in the entrance exam.

Beside her, her father, Raju Shetty, sat with a tense, hunched posture. 
His rough hands, calloused from years of labor, trembled slightly as he looked anxiously at the clerk’s desk. 
His face was lined with age and hardship, his rough clothes—a faded shirt and simple trousers—faded and worn from years of toil. 
His eyes, dark and tired, flicked between Rashmi and the clerk, a flicker of pride clouded by worry and uncertainty.

The clerk, a middle-aged man dressed sharply in a crisp shirt and tie, sat behind a sleek, modern desk, flipping through a thick register with distracted indifference. 
His tone was courteous but distant. "I’m sorry, how many times should I tell, there’s no space left in the hostel for your daughter," he announced, glancing at the computer screen and then back at them. 
"You’ll need to make your own arrangements in the city."

Rashmi’s face froze with the last statement. Her eyes widened behind her glasses, her voice barely a whisper. 
"But Sir, I was told I’d get hostel accommodation if I cleared the entrance exam on merit," she said softly, voice trembling. 
"I’ve come so far—my family saved every paisa for this chance."

The clerk shrugged, feigning casual indifference. 
"Rules are rules. The hostel is full. You’ll have to find private accommodation—PGs or rented rooms nearby. There are plenty in the city."

Her father’s jaw tightened, his rough features hardening as he clenched his fists. His voice, thick with frustration, broke through in his local dialect. 
"This can’t be right," he said, voice strained with emotion. 
"My daughter studied by street light, sharing a single room with her brother. We sacrificed everything—our comfort, our savings—for this opportunity. 
How can there be no place for her to stay now?"

The clerk shifted uncomfortably, avoiding their gaze. "I understand your concern, sir, but I don’t control the hostel arrangements. It’s just the way it is."

Rashmi looked down, her trembling fingers clutching her worn out bag tightly. 
Her heart hammered fiercely—disappointment, helplessness, and a rising wave of frustration churned inside her. 
She had fought so long, climbed so high, only to be met with this unforgiving reality. Her dreams, so close moments ago, now seemed fragile, slipping away.

Outside the office, the distant hum of students and college life continued—voices, footsteps, the lively buzz of ambition—oblivious to the tension inside. 
Her father’s eyes flickered with worry, but he quickly masked it behind a forced, reassuring smile. 
"Let's find something," he muttered under his breath, though his voice betrayed his doubt.

Rashmi swallowed hard, fighting back tears. She looked at her father, her eyes shining with a fierce resolve despite the despair threatening to overwhelm her. 
The room felt colder, smaller, as the stark reality pressed down on them—the promise of her bright future overshadowed now by the harsh burden of their poverty and the uncertain journey ahead.

Just then, the door creaked open softly, and Sanappa, the college peon, shuffled in. 
His face was weathered and lined, a testament to years of hard work under the sun. 
His stained teeth showed whenever he spoke—yellowed and crooked like his rough demeanor. 
His habit of chewing paan left a telltale red stain around his lips and on his fingers, and he often wiped his mouth hurriedly with the back of his hand, as if trying to hide the sooty marks.

Sanappa’s thick, calloused hands clutched a file, and he looked around before speaking in a husky, gravelly voice. 
"I know someone who can help," he said, glancing at Rashmi and her father. "There’s a girl, a senior student, who already stays nearby—about two or three kilometers from here. She’s got a room, and she might be able to share with you at a low-cost."

His eyes flicked to Rashmi’s father, gauging his expression. "It’s not ideal, but it’s better than wandering around looking for something last minute. I can get her number if you want."
Her father looked wary, rubbing his chin as he hesitated. "Will she be trustworthy? Will she cause trouble?"

Sanappa nodded vigorously, a quick grin flashing through his stained teeth. 
"I’ve known her for two years. She’s responsible—quiet, respectful. She’s been staying there comfortably. 
Just a small favor, that’s all. But I’ll need a bit of motivation you know."

Rashmi’s father hesitated, then fished out a crumpled note from his pocket, holding it out. "Here. Take it. Do whatever you need."

Sanappa took the money with a quick, grateful nod, then fumbled in his pocket for a moment before producing a small slip of paper with an address scrawled on it. 
"Here’s her address. Meet her, her name is Ruchi."

As he turned to leave, Rashmi’s mind spun with a flicker of hope amid the chaos. 
Despite the hardships, a small chance was emerging—one that could help her keep her dreams alive, even if just for now.

Rashmi and her father stepped out of the college gates, their footsteps cautious as they decided to walk instead of taking any transport, knowing every rupee counted. 
With limited money in their pockets, they preferred to save on fare, even if it meant a tiring journey.

Rashmi's eyes lingered on the college building, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. This was her college of dreams.
The thought of not being able to get a hostel berth was a hard pill for both Rashmi and her father.
They walked further away from the gates in silence for a few moments.
The weight of their financial struggles hung heavy in the air between them.
They knew any place outside the hostel, may not be affordable.
The city of Belore, was the biggest city in the state and the Pinnacle Institute was located on its outskirts.

As they walked away from the college, the scenery began to shift after about a couple of kilometers. 
The neat, busy streets gave way to a neglected, grimier part of the city. 
The buildings were run-down, their walls cracked and smeared with dirt. 
The air grew thick with dust and an unsettling silence.
The atmosphere reeked of sewage, exhaust fumes, and the acrid smell of fried onions from a street vendor.

As they moved further into this area, they spotted a small, shabby bar with a flickering neon sign barely holding on. 
The scent of stale beer and cheap perfume clung thickly to the humid night air as Rashmi clutched her father’s worn sleeve. 
They hesitated before the flickering neon sign – ‘Lucky Bar’ – its buzzing light illuminating the grimy alleyway. 

Few men, sprawled on plastic chairs outside like predatory birds on a wire, turned their heads in unison as the pair approached. 
Their gazes, sharp and appraising, instantly locked onto Rashmi, stripping away her modest kurti with crude intensity. 
Her father, stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he kept walking, his steps heavy with reluctant purpose.

"Arey dekho! Kaun aaya? Ekdam fresh maal!" crowed the tallest one, a lanky figure with oil-slicked hair, leering openly. 
His voice cut through the street noise, harsh and grating. ("Hey look! Who is here? New fresh piece!")

Beside him, a squat, muscular man with a jagged scar running down his cheek let out a low whistle, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Rashmi's chest. 
"Haan yaar, iski chhatein toh dekho... ekdum mast gol-gol... doodh se bhare hue lagte hai!" 
His grin revealed stained teeth. ("Yeah man, look at her tits... perfectly round... look full of milk!")

Another man, younger but with cold, calculating eyes, shifted forward, his gaze dropping deliberately. 
"Uff... iska pichhwada... jeans mein kitna tight hai... ekdum mauj aa jaaye isko dabane mein," he murmured, loud enough to be heard, licking his lips obscenely. 
("Uff... her ass... how tight in those jeans... it would be bliss to squeeze it.")

Rashmi kept her eyes fixed on the cracked concrete beneath her worn sandals, the vulgar comments assaulting her ears, each word a physical blow. 
She wished the ground would swallow her. Her father’s grip on her arm tightened painfully, a silent plea for her to endure. 
They needed to pass quickly from there.

Another goon, with greying stubble and a paunch straining his vest, chuckled, focusing on her profile. 
"Gharelu bandhi hai... ekdum msaum... par chehra toh bomb hai yaar!" He made a crude gesture near his groin. 
("She is innocent... just like a homely girl... but her face is a bomb, man!")

Another one, seemingly the quietest until now, leaned back, his gaze lingering on Rashmi’s mouth. 
"Haathum achcha hai, bhura chamdi..... aur hont... kitne rasile lag rahe hai... chaatne ka mann karta hai," he said, his voice a low rumble thick with suggestion. 
("Her complexion is nice... brown skin... and lips... how juicy they look... makes me want to lick them.")

"Saali ki choti... kitni mast hai," another, younger but with eyes just as cruel, drawled, lazily swirling whiskey in his tumbler. 
His Hindi was thick with local dialect, deliberate and obscene. 
"Soch raha hun... jab iski choti pakad ke peeche se jhatke marunga tab yeh kaise chillayegi?" 
(This bitch's ponytail... how hot it is. Thinking... when I grab her ponytail from behind and pound her hard, how will she scream?)

The first man leaned forward, his grin widening, stained teeth visible. 
"Choti pakad ke toh maza aayega... lekin iska muh toh aur mast hai!" He made a crude gesture towards his crotch. 
"Iska muh chodne mein kya maza hoga? Jab iska gala tak apna lund daal dunga..." 
(Grabbing her ponytail will be fun... but her mouth is an even hotter hole! What pleasure it will be fucking that mouth? When I shove my cock deep down her throat...).

"Kitni sundar hai... kapde pehen kar bhi iska badan dikh raha hai," another voice, older and raspier, joined in, his gaze lingering openly on her chest. 
"Chal, ek round pi le humare saath... tere liye hi wait kar rahe the!" 
(How beautiful she is... even with clothes on, her body is visible. Come, have a drink with us... we were waiting just for you!). 
He patted the grimy seat beside him invitingly.

"Nahi, nahi... yeh toh sirf apne muh ka kaam degi aaj," the younger one sneered, licking his lips. 
"Choti pakad ke thappad maarunga pehle... phir jab roegi tab muh mein daal dunga..." 
(No, no... she'll only do blowjob today. First, I'll slap her while pulling her ponytail... then when she cries, I'll shove it in her mouth...)
The laughter intensified, raw and ugly.

Rashmi felt a sob rising in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never felt so vulnerable, so small, in her life. 
The way these men's eyes roamed over her body, stripping her of her dignity with each passing second, made her want to disappear.

As they walked away, Rashmi's father kept a protective arm around her, his gaze scanning the street for any signs of trouble. 
His worn kurta hung loosely on a frame diminished by years of manual labour and cheap liquor. 

"Please," her father whispered, stepping forward, voice quavering. "We’re just looking for—"  

"Looking for trouble?" The largest thug stood, knocking his chair backward. He loomed over them, reeking of sweat and cheap whiskey. 
"This ain’t no place for pretty little birds." 
Rashmi’s father tried to shield her, but a shove sent him stumbling back. 
Panic clawed up Rashmi’s throat.  

A voice cut through the tension like shattered glass. "Still picking on oldies, loser? Pathetic." The goons froze. 
Their smirk vanished. "Shit," he muttered. "It’s *her*."  
A woman stood silhouetted against the dying sun, leather jacket slung over one shoulder. 

She strode towards them, boots thudding on the ground. She was tall, with sharp cheekbones and eyes like polished obsidian.
Ignoring the men, she walked beside Rashmi’s father. "You alright, uncle?" Her tone softened, almost gentle. 
Rashmi stared—this woman moved like a storm contained.  

One of the men, puffing his chest remarked "Ruchi. They are not your concern."  

Ruchi turned slowly, turning to face him. A flicker of recognition—and fear—passed through the goons’ eyes. 
She didn’t raise her voice. "Touch them again, and I’ll feed you your own teeth." 
The silence thickened, suffocating. The men sank back into their chair, muttering curses.  

Rashmi’s father grasped Ruchi’s wrist, tears welling. "You... you’re Ruchi?"  

Ruchi’s gaze shifted to Rashmi, assessing, then back to the old man. "Yeah. Who’s asking?"

"We are," Rashmi blurted out, stepping closer. The scent of Ruchi’s leather mixed with jasmine oil—an unsettling, electric combination. 
"We’ve been searching for you. Sanappa said you could help."  

Ruchi’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "That olg hag? Lets talk over at my place"  
Ruchi lead Rashmi and her father towards her place which was only some distance away from the bar.

"It's... small," Ruchi warned, pushing the door open with a reluctant creak. 
The scent of cheap disinfectant and stale beer hung thick in the air. 
The single overhead bulb flickered to life, revealing a cramped chaos: clothes piled on a single chair, textbooks spilling off a rickety desk, and a narrow bed pushed against the wall. 
Space felt like a luxury Ruchi hadn't afforded herself lately.

Rashmi stepped inside first, her eyes darting around the cluttered room before landing back on Ruchi. 
"Small is perfect," she breathed, her voice tight with a relief that bordered on desperation. 
"Honestly, anything is perfect. The clerk... he said they were overbooked until next semester. Something about some repairs." 
A tremor ran through her words. "I heard... I heard you had space? That maybe..." 
Her gaze flickered to the bed, then away quickly, cheeks flushing a deep rose. "That it could be shared?"

Her cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound. He hovered in the doorway, unwilling to fully enter the intimate space. 
His worn work shirt hung loosely on his frame. 
"We wouldn't impose," he began, his voice gravelly with fatigue and something else – shame, perhaps? 
"But Rashmi... she needs to study" He looked directly at Ruchi, his dark eyes holding a plea that cut through the awkwardness. 
"Her mother worked extra shifts for months to save just for this hostel deposit. Now..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the setback.
"My Rashmi… she is a good girl. Quiet. Studious. She won’t be any trouble."

Ruchi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. She gave Rashmi a slow, appraising look that traveled from her simple kurti to her worn sandals. 
Her earlier briskness softened slightly. "It’s fine, Uncle. The hostel mess is always overbooked this time of year." 
Her gaze shifted back to Rashmi’s father. They proceeded to discuss the rent and other trivial things.
Rashmi's father extracted a promise from Ruchi, that she will protect his daughter like her younger sister.
Especially from those drunkards hanging out at Lucky bar.

After about half hour of discussions, Ruchi remarked to Rashmi's father, 
"You should go now. The last train leaves soon, no? Don’t miss it." 
The dismissal was gentle but firm. Rashmi felt a pang of panic as her father hesitated. 
He pulled Rashmi into a brief, tight hug, whispering hurriedly about calling every night and being careful. 
Then, with a final nod to Ruchi, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading rapidly until only the distant rumble of traffic remained.

Ruchi now walked deeper into the room, her hips swaying slightly. 
She stopped near a curtained-off room Rashmi hadn’t noticed before. With a sharp tug, Ruchi pulled the heavy dbangs aside. 
Behind them was a wooden door opening to a small, spartan space barely larger than a closet. 
A narrow single bed hugged one wall, covered with a plain white sheet. 
A small wooden stool served as a bedside table. A single, bare bulb hung from the ceiling. 
"This," Ruchi announced, her voice regaining its earlier crispness, "is yours."

Rashmi stared into the tiny enclosure. Compared to the chaos of the main room, it felt stark, almost monastic. 
"It's… fine," she managed, swallowing the lump in her throat. 
"Thank you Didi. Really." She took a hesitant step towards the room.

"And listen carefully." Ruchi gestured sharply toward the room. 
"That bed is yours. The stool holds your things. You breathe in there. You sleep in there." 
Her finger jabbed toward the chaotic main room. "*Out here*, this is my space. You understand?"

Rashmi nodded mutely, her throat tight. Ruchi’s eyes narrowed. "I bring friends home sometimes." 
She paused, letting the euphemism hang thick and heavy. 

Ruchi turned abruptly, grabbing a half-empty bottle of water from behind a pile of sequined blouses. 
"Water’s in the tap down the hall.Kitchen is in the corner and toilet’s at the end. Don’t linger." 
She took a long swig straight from the bottle. 
"Welcome to paradise, topper girl."
This wasn’t temporary. This was survival. Rashmi dragged her bag towards the room. 

"Just one more thing, Rashmi," Ruchi chirped, her voice honey-sweet. 
"For the rental agreement records. Smile!" 
The flash illuminated Rashmi's unsuspecting face, catching the faint sheen of sweat on her brow from the exertion of moving. 
Innocent. Oblivious. Perfect.

Rashmi offered a tired, genuine smile, smoothing down her kurti. "You're a lifesaver Didi, helping me settle in like this," she murmured, her gaze soft with gratitude. 
Ruchi watched her, a predator admiring the graceful lines of its prey. 
She was even more exquisite in person than in the grainy online profile photos that were shared with her – high cheekbones, full lips, dark eyes that held a disarming warmth. 
Exactly the type boys favoured.

As Rashmi stood, stretching with a small sigh that lifted her chest against the thin fabric, Ruchi swiftly navigated her phone. 
Not to the rental portal, but to a contact recently saved. 
Her thumbs flew over the screen, punctuating the message with crude slang and graphic metaphors. 
*"Yeh Shikaar apne jhaal mein aa gaya. Dekho iska badan... maal hai! Bas ab tumhare agle kadam ka intezaar."* 
(This prey walked right into the net. Look at this body... what a piece! Now just waiting for your next step).

She attached the photos – Rashmi kneeling near her bag, Rashmi smiling obliviously at the camera, Rashmi bending over her bag, the curve of her backside clearly outlined. 
Each image was a captured trophy. Ruchi hit send, the soft *whoosh* sound swallowed by the hum of the ceiling fan.

The door felt heavy as Rashmi pulled it shut behind her. 
The tiny space plunged into near-darkness, the single bulb outside casting only a faint, sickly yellow glow through the thick fabric. 
The air tasted stale and dusty.
She sank onto the narrow bed. The thin mattress offered no comfort, the metal frame groaning beneath her slight weight. 
Outside, she heard Ruchi moving – the clink of glass, the rustle of fabric, a low sigh. Then, silence. 
 
She closed her eyes, trying to conjure her father’s worried face, the bustling college campus she’d dreamed of, anything but this suffocating cubicle smelling faintly of mothballs and desperation. 
The distant wail of a security officer siren pierced the night, startlingly loud even through the curtain. It sounded like a warning.
Rashmi squeezed her eyes shut tighter, pressing her face into the thin pillow.

Five hundred kilometres away, amidst the sprawling isolation of his farmhouse, a young man lounged on a deep leather sofa. 
The setting sun painted the manicured lawns blood-orange. 
His phone vibrated against the glass coffee table, pulling him from his contemplation of a half-empty whiskey tumbler. 
He picked it up, the glow illuminating the sharp planes of his face. The screen filled with Ruchi's message and the cascade of images.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, devoid of warmth. He took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, the smoky liquid burning a familiar path down his throat. 
His thumb swiped across the screen, enlarging each photo with unhurried precision. 
He lingered on the shot of Rashmi bending over – the taut fabric stretched across her hips, the unconscious vulnerability of her pose. 
*"Exactly where she needs to be,"* he murmured to the empty, opulent room, his voice a low rumble. 
Ruchi had delivered flawlessly. The trap was sprung, the bait taken.

He drained the rest of his whiskey, the ice cubes clinking hollowly. Setting the glass down, he kept his gaze locked on Rashmi's face in the photos. 
Her wide, trusting eyes stared back, oblivious to the hungry appraisal. He traced the line of her jaw on the screen with a fingertip. 
The anticipation coiled within him, thick and intoxicating – a familiar, addictive thrill. 
It wouldn’t be long now. He felt charged.

His gaze lingered on Rashmi's unsuspecting face, frozen in digital perfection on his screen. 
Her dark eyes held a warmth he intended to extinguish, her lips slightly parted in that weary, trusting smile Ruchi had captured so expertly. 
It was the mix of arrogance and innocence that truly ignited him – the knowledge that this lovely creature had no inkling of the steel jaws closing around her. 
His thumb swiped again, and the image shifted to Rashmi bending over her suitcase. 
The thin fabric of her kurti clung to the dip of her lower back, then flared slightly over the full, ripe curve of her backside. 
The fabric stretched taut across her hips, hinting at the firmness beneath. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. 
Rashmi’s innocent smile mocked him now, fueling a dark, possessive fury that mingled seamlessly with his lust. 
She belonged to him. Her beauty, her trust, her fear – all were his to exploit, to savor, to break.

[Pvzro]

Wow seems to be the most erotic ones,i can see with the updates posted it has been posted twice have a check and many Congratulations dear writer for a wonderful story ahead 

This forum is lacking many quality stories like this which use .. to get featured and written in the past

Miss the quality in many stories which is surely poured in your story 

Can't wait to read more of it wow

What a way of narration thank u again

[behka]

nice start keep going but make it but don't make her a slut. She should be her nerdy character who is fooled and exploited

[Pvzro]

Plz keep posting awaiting dear

[Nainaboss]

Good if possible try to add images/gif

[Saj890]

Very nice

[Luca Modric]

Promising start