Fantasy Teeth on Silk Skin (horror erotic)

[Toxic boy]

Get ready for a rollercoaster ride ?❤️

[Toxic boy]

The car tires crunched over dry gravel, breaking a silence that felt centuries old. They had left the chaotic noise of Kolkata far behind. Here, on the outskirts, the air was heavy, still, and strangely devoid of birdsong.
Sumit killed the engine. "We're here," he whispered, almost reverently.
Before them stood 'The structure'. It wasn't a ruin, as one might expect for the price. It was magnificent—a deep, ochre-red colonial mansion hidden behind a thicket of unkempt bougainvillea. But there was something about the architecture... the windows were too narrow, too tall, looking down like hooded eyes.
Sohini stepped out of the car. Her feet sank slightly into the soft, damp earth.
She didn't feel excitement. She felt a sudden, heavy pressure in her chest, as if the air pressure had dropped instantly.
She adjusted her saree, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down her back. It wasn't just the heat. It was a physical reaction to the place.
"It’s... very quiet, isn't it?" she murmured, her voice sounding too loud in the open air.
The broker, Mr. Roy, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He didn't look at the house; he looked at his watch. "Peaceful, Madam. Absolute peace. The owner lives abroad, you see. He just wants it gone."
Sohini looked up at the second-floor balcony. The iron railing was rusted in intricate patterns. For a fleeting second, the shadows played a trick on her eyes. The darkness behind the balcony door seemed to shift, as if someone had just stepped back into the room to hide.
She rubbed her arms. The fine hairs on her skin stood up. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the feeling you get when you walk into a room and realize everyone was just talking about you.
"Come," Sumit waved, already at the porch. "Let's go inside."
Sohini took a step forward. Her heart hammered a warning: Don't go in. But she forced a smile and followed. As she crossed the shadow of the main gate, the sunlight vanished, and a coldness wrapped around her ankles like invisible vines.
The house hadn't just been empty. It had been waiting.

[Toxic boy]

Mr. Roy twisted the heavy brass key in the lock. With a groan that sounded almost like a sigh of relief, the massive teakwood doors swung open.
Darkness spilled out into the afternoon light, cool and solid.
Sumit stepped in first, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "Wow! Look at the height of the ceiling! Need to change the wiring, but the structure is solid."
Sohini lingered at the threshold. She took a step inside, and instantly, the world outside—the birds, the wind, the sun—ceased to exist.
And then, it hit her.
The smell.
It wasn't the smell of dust or decay she expected from a closed house. It was heavy, sweet, and suffocatingly masculine. It smelled of wet earth, old leather, and crushed night-blooming jasmine (Raat-er Rani). It was the scent of a man who had just left the room—strong, musky, and warm.
Her head spun. A wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her to grab the doorframe for support. Her knees felt weak, watery.
It wasn't a repulsive smell; it was intoxicating. It made her heart beat faster, a rhythmic thumping in her ears that drowned out Sumit’s voice.
"Sohini? You okay?" Sumit asked, his voice sounding distant, like he was underwater.
Sohini blinked, trying to clear the fog in her brain. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, inhaling that forbidden scent deep into her lungs.
"I... I’m fine," she whispered. "Just a bit dizzy from the heat."
But she knew it wasn't the heat. The house was cold.
She looked at the grand staircase spiraling up into the shadows. The smell was stronger there. It was inviting her. Beckoning her upstairs to the master bedroom.
She felt a strange, heavy heat pooling in her lower belly—a reaction she hadn't felt in years. Fear mixed with a sudden, shameful arousal. Why was this dead house making her feel so... alive?

[Toxic boy]

By the time they officially moved in that evening, the house smelled of strong disinfectant and lemon cleaner. Sumit had hired a local agency to scrub the place top to bottom.
Sohini felt a bit more at ease. The floors were shining, the cobwebs were gone. It looked like a livable home now.
One of the cleaners, a middle-aged woman named Kamala, was finishing up in the kitchen. She looked anxious, constantly glancing out at the darkening sky.
"Madam, we are done," Kamala said, wiping her hands nervously on her saree. "But... the upstairs room..."
Sohini paused, holding a glass of water. "Which one? The master bedroom?"
"Yes. We scrubbed everything. But that wall behind the big bed... there is a mark. We used acid, we used brush, but it won't go." Kamala lowered her voice, stepping closer. "And Madam, don't keep the windows open in that room after sunset. The wind... it's not good there."
Sohini frowned. "What do you mean?"
But Kamala didn't explain. She took her payment from Sumit and practically ran out of the gate before the sun fully set.
Sohini walked upstairs, intrigued and slightly unsettled. The room smelled of phenyl, but underneath it, that faint, musky scent lingered.
She looked at the wall behind the bed.
The cleaners were right. The wall was spotless white, freshly scrubbed.
Except for one spot.
Just above the headboard level, there was a dark, oily patch. It looked fresh—as if the oil was still wet, seeping out of the wall rather than sitting on top of it.
And it looked disturbingly like the imprint of a sweaty back and a head leaning against the wall. Waiting.

[Toxic boy]

Dusk settled over the old mansion like a heavy blanket. The chirping of crickets outside seemed to mock the eerie silence inside. The house felt like it was holding its breath.
Sohini stood at the threshold of what was meant to be the prayer room. It was empty, dark, and gathered dust in the corners. A single, broken picture frame lay face down on the floor—left behind by the previous owners.
She turned around to see Sumit lounging on the sofa in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking utterly relaxed.
"Sumit," she called out softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "I was thinking... we should at least do a small Grihapravesh puja tomorrow morning. I’ve already spoken to Ma, she can send the priest."
Sumit chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Start again? Sohini, please. We live in the 21st century. I just spent a fortune buying this place, and now you want to spend more on rituals?"
"But Sumit... the house is old. It feels heavy... unsettled." Sohini hugged herself, trying to suppress the shiver running down her arms.
Sumit waved his hand dismissively. "That’s just the damp weather and dust, babe. Listen, forget the puja. I’ve been thinking—next Saturday, let's throw a Grand Party. Invite my business partners, your friends... everyone. A cocktail dinner. Let everyone see what Sumit Sen has achieved!"
Sohini bit her lip and stayed silent. There was no point arguing when he was in this mood.
She turned and walked towards the stairs, heading to the master bedroom.
But if she had looked at the shadows stretching across the walls instead of Sumit, she might have noticed something.
The shadows seemed to lengthen, almost smiling.
No puja. No mantras. No gods.
This house would have no divine protection.
Just Him. And Sohini.

[Toxic boy]

Night had truly fallen inside the mansion. Despite the cleaning agency's best efforts, the house was shedding its skin again. A fine, gritty layer of dust had already settled on the bedside table and the polished mahogany headboard.
Sohini ran her finger across the wood, frowning at the grey smudge on her fingertip.
"Sumit, look," she whispered, rubbing the dust. "They cleaned it just hours ago, and it's already gritty. It feels... unclean."
Sumit was changing into his pyjamas, humming a tune. The whiskey had made him cheerful and oblivious.
"It's an old house, Sohini. The plaster breathes. Don't worry, I’ll tell the maid to wipe it down twice a day."
He climbed onto the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He patted the pillow, sending a tiny cloud of dust motes dancing in the lamplight.
"You know who I’m inviting to the party?" Sumit boasted, lying back with his hands behind his head. "Mr. Khanna from the Burrabazar Wholesale Association, and Das Babu from the Gariahat Union. Those guys always looked down on my shop because it’s old-fashioned. Wait till they see this place. They’ll realize Sumit Sen isn't just a small-time trader anymore."
Sohini didn't answer. She was looking at the wall above Sumit’s head. The oil stain seemed darker in the dim light of the night lamp.
She felt a strange reluctance to get into that bed. The sheets felt cold, almost damp, despite the humidity.
"Come on, turn off the light," Sumit yawned, turning on his side, his back to her. "I have to open the shop early tomorrow. New stock is coming from Surat."
Sohini turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room instantly.
She lay down on her side of the huge bed, leaving a wide gap between her and Sumit.
The silence wasn't empty. It was filled with the sound of settling dust—a soft, continuous hiss like sand falling in an hourglass.
And then, she felt it.
The dust wasn't just falling on the furniture. It was falling on her. Invisible particles settling on her skin, making her feel like something was coating her, claiming her.

[Toxic boy]

Rohan sat on his bed, surrounded by half-opened cartons. His room was at the far end of the corridor, separated from his parents' room by a long, shadowy stretch of hallway.
He held his phone up towards the window, searching for a single bar of 4G signal.
"Damn it!" he muttered, tossing the phone onto the mattress. "What kind of wasteland is this?"
He was already dreading tomorrow morning. Since they moved so far out—past the chaotic bypass and into the quiet lanes of Rajpur or Baruipur—his college commute had become a nightmare.
"Get up at 5:30 AM to catch the pool car," he mimicked his father’s enthusiastic voice. "It’s good for discipline!"
Bullshit. It was just exhausting. The pool car would take an hour and a half just to reach his college in Park Street. By the time he got back home, it would be dark again.
He looked around the room. It was huge, much bigger than his old room in the flat, but it felt... cold. The high ceiling made him feel small. And the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch longer than they should.
He put on his headphones to drown out the silence. He started playing a game, but the screen flickered. Once. Twice.
The audio crackled—a sharp, high-pitched static sound that made him wince and rip the headphones off.
"Stupid old wiring," he grumbled, rubbing his ear.
He looked out into the hallway. It was pitch black. His parents' room was way down the other side.
For a second, he thought he heard a heavy footstep on the wooden floorboards outside his door.
Thud. Thud.
"Ma?" he called out.
No answer. Just the wind howling through the cracks in the window.
Rohan shivered. He quickly got up, slammed his door shut, and locked it. He didn't know why, but he suddenly didn't want whatever was in that hallway to come in.