[kirak9484]

Hi this is a new erotic sex story. Hope you will enjoys.

[kirak9484]

Thank you.. This a beautiful story.. How she used by unwillingly in front of me.

[kirak9484]

Update 1: tomorrow.. Thank you all.

[kirak9484]

"Ahhhhhhhhh… Ahhhh… It's bigggg… Ahhhhhh… Ohhhhh… 

Goddddddddd…" please mercy on me " words


coming from my beautiful wife Ananya.



Heavy, desperate moans and sharp feminine screams spilled out from 

our marital bedroom. The king-size


bed — the same bed where Ananya and I had taken our vows, made 

love gently on our wedding night — was

now creaking violently under brutal rhythm.


“Take it, my bitch… take every fucking inch,” Vicky’s deep, 

commanding voice boomed, followed by the wet,

obscene slap of flesh against flesh.


Ananya’s cries echoed down the corridor straight into my ears. My 

cock stood painfully hard inside my pants,


throbbing with every scream she let out, every time she begged 

incoherently. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t.


One word of protest and Vicky would end my career tomorrow — no 

reference, no severance, nothing. Just

with a single sign my job will remove. And my life will ruined.


So I stood outside like a coward, palms pressed to the wall, breathing 

shallow, listening to my wife being claimed.


Inside, on our marital bed, my 38-year-old boss Vicky and his gym-


friend Arun were double-teaming my


beautiful Ananya without mercy.  "Ohhh... Nooooo.... Please.... Pl

Please"". Ananya pleading...


Vicky — tall, thick-muscled, always smelling faintly of expensive 


cologne and power — had her hips locked in


his big hands, slamming into her from behind in deep, punishing 


strokes. Arun, leaner but cruelly endowed,


knelt in front, feeding her mouth his cock while gripping her long 


black hair like reins.


And Ananya… God, Ananya.


Even in this degrading scene she looked impossibly beautiful — more 

beautiful than the day I married her.


At 29, her body had ripened into something almost unfair. Her skin 

was the color of warm caramel, glowing


under the bedroom lights even when slick with sweat. Her face — 


heart-shaped, delicate yet sensual — was


flushed deep pink. Those large, almond-shaped eyes, lined with kohl 


even now, were half-lidded in helpless


pleasure-pain, long lashes wet with tears. Her full lips, naturally pouty 

and rose-colored, were stretched wide


around Arun’s shaft, glistening with saliva, trembling every time he 

pushed deeper into her throat.


Her hair — thick, jet-black, waist-length waves — spilled across the 

sheets like spilled ink, strands sticking to


her sweaty cheeks and neck.


Her breasts… oh fuck, her breasts. Full, heavy 34D globes that had 


grown even lusher after marriage. They


swayed violently with each thrust from behind, dark areolas wide and 


puffy, nipples thick and erect like ripe

berries, dark brown and aching. Every time Vicky bottomed out i


inside her, her tits bounced forward, slapping

together audibly.


Her waist dipped inward dramatically — a perfect hourglass — before 


flaring into wide, womanly hips that


Vicky’s fingers dug into so hard I could already see red marks for

forming. Those hips… the same hips I used to


hold gently while making love… now being used as handles for rough, 

animalistic fucking.


And her navel — a deep, oval innie that I used to tease with my to

tongue on lazy Sunday mornings. Right now it


was quivering, the soft flesh around it jumping with every brutal 

plunge into her core.


Her back — smooth, long, gracefully arched — was glistening with 

sweat. The elegant line of her spine curved


beautifully as she was forced onto all fours. And her buttocks… God, 

her buttocks. Round, plump, impossibly


firm yet jiggly, the kind of ass that made men turn in the street even 

when she wore modest sarees. Right


now those glorious cheeks were rippling with every slap of Vicky’s 


hips, turning bright pink from the spanking


he’d given her earlier. Deep dimples decorated the top of each globe, 


and between them her tiny puckered


hole winked helplessly with every thrust.


“Such a perfect married slut,” Vicky growled, slapping her right ass 


cheek hard enough to make it jiggle for


seconds. “Look at this fat ass… made for breeding.”


Ananya only whimpered in response, her voice muffled around Arun’s 

cock.


I could see everything through the half-open door — the way her 


wedding mangalsutra swung wildly between


her bouncing breasts, the gold chain and black beads mocking me. 


The way her anklets jingled frantically


with every thrust. The way her red bangles clinked together as she 

gripped the sheets.


She was still wearing the tiny red nightie I’d bought her last 


anniversary — now torn at the neckline, straps


hanging uselessly, the fabric bunched around her waist like a 


defeated...



Introduction:::

My name:  Rajesh age 32

Wife. Name: Ananya age 29

Vicky : My company CEO age 36

Arun: Vicky friend age 38..

[kirak9484]

Ananya – Her breathtaking beauty (at 29 years)
Ananya stands at 5'5", with skin the color of warm liquid honey — glowing, flawless, and impossibly soft to the touch. Her face is heart-shaped perfection: high cheekbones, a delicate jawline, and large almond-shaped eyes the shade of dark molten chocolate, framed by naturally thick, curling lashes. When she looks at you, those eyes hold both shy innocence and a hidden wildfire.
Her lips are full, naturally rose-pink, the lower one slightly plumper — the kind of mouth that begs to be kissed for hours. A tiny beauty spot sits just above the left corner of her upper lip, like a secret signature placed there by God.
A small, perfectly shaped nose with a delicate curve, adorned with a tiny diamond stud that catches light every time she turns her face. When she smiles — that slow, mischievous smile — a single dimple appears on her right cheek, devastating in its sweetness.
Her long, silky black hair falls in thick waves down to the small of her back. When she lets it loose after a bath, the scent of jasmine and her own natural musk fills the room.
Now her body…
Her neck is long and graceful, leading to beautifully sloped shoulders. Her collarbones are prominent — two elegant ridges that make you want to trace them with your tongue.
Her breasts are full, round, and impossibly firm — 34D, heavy yet high, with dark rose-brown areolas the size of old silver coins and thick, sensitive nipples that harden into tight peaks at the slightest breeze or at the sound of your voice calling her name. When she breathes deeply they rise and fall hypnotically.
Her waist is surprisingly narrow — a classic hourglass cinch that makes every saree she wears look sinful. And then… her navel.
Ananya has one of the most erotic navels imaginable — deep, perfectly oval, with soft rounded edges. A tiny vertical line runs from just below her sternum down into that inviting hollow. When she stretches or arches her back, the navel opens like a secret flower, begging for a fingertip, a tongue, a drop of honey, or the slow circling pressure of your thumb. A delicate gold chain with tiny hanging bells rests low on her hips — the belly chain (oddiyanam style but modern) that dips into that navel when she moves, the bells chiming softly with every sway of her hips.
Her hips flare dramatically — wide, womanly, made for gripping. Her buttocks are high, round, and plush — the kind that bounce gently with each step, firm enough to hold shape, soft enough to sink your fingers into. When she walks away in a saree or nightgown, the hypnotic roll of those full globes is almost criminal.
Her thighs are thick yet toned, with that soft inner flesh that trembles when you kiss it. Her calves are beautifully curved, ending in small, elegant feet with high arches — always adorned with silver toe rings and crimson nail polish.
And between those thighs… a neatly trimmed triangle of soft black curls framing the most delicate, petal-pink lips that flush darker rose when she's aroused, glistening like morning dew.
Our First Night – Two years ago
The room was lit only by the soft glow of oil lamps and strings of marigold. Ananya sat on the edge of the flower-strewn bed in a heavy red bridal saree, eyes lowered, hands trembling slightly in her lap, the gold bangles and glass chooda making tiny music.
I lifted her chin. Those chocolate eyes met mine — nervous, excited, trusting.
I kissed her slowly at first — just lips brushing lips. Then deeper. Her mouth opened like a flower under rain. She tasted of paan, cardamom, and something uniquely her.
Piece by piece I unwrapped her.
When the saree pallu fell, her breasts rose and fell rapidly under the tight red blouse. I kissed the valley between them, felt her heartbeat thundering.
I untied the strings. Her breasts spilled free — heavy, warm, nipples already tight and dark. I took one into my mouth, rolling my tongue slowly. She gasped, fingers flying to my hair, a soft "Rajesh…" escaping her lips.
I laid her back. Kissed down her stomach. When my tongue dipped into that deep navel she arched violently, a low moan tearing from her throat. The belly chain tinkled like temple bells.
I peeled her petticoat down. Her hips lifted to help me. Those lush buttocks gleamed in the lamplight. I turned her over gently, kissed the dimples above her ass, bit the soft flesh lightly. She pushed back against my mouth instinctively.
When I finally parted her thighs, she was already soaked — glistening, swollen, fragrant. I tasted her slowly, reverently. She came the first time with a shocked cry, thighs clamping around my head, fingers twisting in the bedsheet.
Then I entered her — slowly, inch by inch. She was tight, hot, fluttering around me. A single tear slipped from her eye — not pain, but overwhelming emotion. We moved together, slow at first, then faster, deeper. Her nails raked my back. Her hips rose to meet every thrust. The belly chain chimed wildly.
When she came again, she clenched so hard around me I couldn't hold back. I spilled inside her with a guttural groan, her name on my lips.
We lay tangled, sweating, hearts pounding, her head on my chest, my fingers lazily circling her navel.
That was our beginning.
Our happy married life in the peaceful duplex home in Mumbai
Two years later.
Our duplex in Powai is quiet, fragrant with mogra from the balcony pots. Mornings — she wakes me with soft kisses along my jaw, then disappears to make filter coffee. I find her in the kitchen wearing only my white shirt, unbuttoned, the hem barely covering the curve of her buttocks. The belly chain glints against her honey skin.
I come up behind her, slide my hands under the shirt, cup her heavy breasts, thumbs brushing those sensitive nipples until they pebble. She leans back against me, head on my shoulder, soft moans as I kiss her neck.
Some evenings she wears a thin cotton nightie — no bra, no panties. The dark circles of her areolas show through the fabric. She sits in my lap on the sofa, straddling me, rocking slowly while we kiss like teenagers. Her navel presses against my stomach. I slide a finger into that deep hollow while she rides me.
Nights in bed are slow, luxurious. I love to oil her body — warm coconut oil dripping down her spine, into the cleft of her buttocks, circling her navel until she’s squirming. Then I take her from behind, hands gripping those wide hips, watching her ass ripple with every deep thrust while the belly chain sings.
She loves when I worship her navel — licking, sucking, pressing my tongue deep while my fingers stroke between her legs. She comes hardest that way, thighs shaking, crying my name.
We are still burning for each other — the same heat as the first night, just deeper, more knowing.
Ananya is my addiction, my peace, my fire.
And every time she walks toward me — hips swaying, navel winking under the chain, breasts moving softly, that dimpled smile — I fall in love all over again.

[kirak9484]

Please give comments whether positive or negative. and likes.. It will give me to write more hot.

[kirak9484]

Excellent fantastic story

Thank u so much for a great writing 

Keep writing !!!

Thank you very much

[kirak9484]

Good start

Thank you

[kirak9484]

Nice beginning
curious how it all led to this.

Thank you bro.

[kirak9484]

Good start. I can understand the ceo doing naughty things with her. But why his gym friend is also doing her,  is the question.  Please continue bro

Thank you very much. It will be in reveal in story

[kirak9484]

What kind of story , this
Cuckold or adulterly

Definitely both type. Thank you

[kirak9484]

superb start

Thank you

[kirak9484]

superb start

Thank you so much.

[kirak9484]

Sexxxy

Thank you

[kirak9484]

Nice start.

Thank you very much

[kirak9484]

good start bro. please provide fast updates

Thank you bro... May be today or tomorrow

[kirak9484]

@kirak9484 story is great but please post regular updates

Thankyou

[kirak9484]

Hi bro, Please provide fast updates

Thank you

[kirak9484]

Ananya had always been the picture of shy, traditional grace — even at 29, when she started as a young lecturer in English Literature at a reputed Mumbai college. She wore sarees every day to work: soft cotton or chiffon in pastel shades, dbangd conservatively high on her waist, the pallu carefully pinned and tucked to cover her midriff completely. No matter how hot the lecture hall got, she never let even an inch of her honey-gold skin show below the blouse. Her deep, oval navel — that secret erotic hollow Rajesh adored — remained hidden from the world, known only to her husband.
In the classroom, she moved gracefully between rows, explaining poetry or Shakespeare with a soft voice and lowered eyes. But the boys noticed her anyway. Her full 34D breasts strained gently against the fitted blouses, rising and falling with each breath. When she turned to write on the board, the saree pulled taut across her wide hips and round buttocks, outlining every curve. A few bolder students let their gazes linger on the dbangd fabric where her waist cinched in, imagining what lay beneath the modest pallu. They whispered about the faint jingle of her belly chain sometimes — that modern oddiyanam she wore low on her hips at home, but never let peek out in public.
Ananya felt those stares like warm pinpricks on her skin. Her cheeks flushed pink; she tugged the pallu tighter, adjusted her pleats nervously, and kept her back straight. She was Rajesh's shy wife first — conservative, proper, blushing at the thought of anyone else seeing what belonged to him alone. The idea of her navel being exposed in class made her stomach flutter with embarrassment... and something deeper she didn't dare name.
After the last lecture, she hurried home in the college cab or sometimes waited for Rajesh to pick her up. The moment she stepped into their peaceful Powai duplex, the mask slipped. She kicked off her heels, unpinned the pallu, and let it fall away. The saree loosened; her narrow waist and that deep, inviting navel came into view, framed by the low-slung belly chain with its tiny bells.
One typical evening last month:
Rajesh returned from his office around 7 PM, loosening his tie as he entered. The house smelled of fresh mogra and the faint spice of dinner she'd started. Ananya was in the kitchen, still in her college saree — a soft peach chiffon that clung slightly from the day's humidity. She'd already removed the pallu pins; the fabric dbangd loosely now, the front pleats low enough that a thin strip of her midriff showed when she reached for spices.
He came up behind her silently. His hands slid around her waist, fingers brushing the warm, bare skin just above the saree line. She gasped softly, leaning back into him.
"Long day, jaan?" he murmured against her ear, lips grazing the sensitive spot below it.
"Mmm... the boys were staring again," she whispered, half-embarrassed, half-teasing. "I kept pulling the pallu down. Felt so shy."
Rajesh's fingers traced lower, dipping just inside the saree edge, circling the upper rim of her navel slowly. "They can only dream," he growled possessively. "This... is mine."
He turned her around. Her chocolate eyes met his — shy, trusting, already darkening with heat. He kissed her deeply, tasting the faint cardamom from her afternoon tea. His hands roamed: one cupping a heavy breast through the blouse, thumb brushing the hardening nipple; the other sliding down to press firmly into her navel. She moaned into his mouth as his thumb dipped inside that deep oval hollow, circling, pressing, mimicking what his tongue would do later.
Ananya's knees weakened. She clutched his shirt. "Rajesh... dinner..."
"Dinner can wait." He lifted her onto the kitchen counter, the marble cool against her thighs. He peeled the saree pallu away completely, exposing her blouse-clad breasts and the full expanse of her midriff. The belly chain glinted, bells tinkling as her breathing quickened.
He kissed down her neck, over collarbones, then lower — mouthing her breasts through the fabric until the dark rose-brown areolas showed wetly through. Then he dropped to his knees. His lips found her navel — that perfect, erotic center of her body. He licked the vertical line leading down into it, then plunged his tongue deep inside, swirling, sucking gently while his fingers stroked the soft curls just below.
Ananya arched violently, one hand in his hair, the other gripping the counter edge. "Ohhh... Rajesh... yes..." Her thighs trembled; the bells chimed wildly with each shudder.
He didn't stop until she came — hard, crying his name, hips bucking against his mouth. Only then did he stand, unzip, and enter her right there on the counter — slow at first, then deep and steady, hands gripping her wide hips, watching her breasts bounce and her navel wink with every thrust.
Later, after they'd moved to the bedroom for round two — oiling her body, taking her from behind while worshipping that navel again — they lay tangled in sheets. Ananya traced lazy circles on his chest, smiling shyly.
"Tomorrow I'll wear the saree even higher," she whispered mischievously. "So no one sees... only you get to uncover me."
Rajesh chuckled, kissing her dimple. "Good girl. Because this body — every inch, especially that navel — belongs to me."
And every morning after that, the routine continued: she bathed, dbangd her saree modestly high, hid her treasures from the world, let Rajesh drop her at college with a secret kiss in the car, then rushed home to him — where the shy lecturer became his uninhibited, navel-obsessed fire once more.







Ananya's days at the college carried an undercurrent of secret thrill she could never quite admit — even to herself.
She taught her 11 AM lecture in a spacious, fan-whirring classroom on the second floor, sunlight slanting through tall windows onto rows of attentive (and not-so-attentive) students. Today she wore a deep emerald green cotton saree, starched and crisp, dbangd high and modest as always. The pallu was meticulously tucked and pinned across her chest and waist, forming an impenetrable curtain over her midriff. No sliver of honey-gold skin, no glimpse of the deep oval navel that Rajesh worshipped nightly, no hint of the delicate belly chain that rested low on her hips at home.
Yet the boys noticed everything else.
As she walked slowly between the aisles, distributing printed notes on Romantic poetry, her saree swished softly with each step. The fabric clung just enough to her wide hips and the gentle bounce of her full buttocks when she turned. Her 34D breasts rose and fell beneath the tight matching blouse as she breathed, the faint outline of dark rose-brown areolas visible if someone stared hard enough through the thin cotton in the right light. A few did.
One student in the third row, a lanky final-year boy named Arjun, let his eyes drift lower every time she paused to explain a line from Keats. He imagined — as many did — what lay hidden beneath that carefully arranged pallu. The way her waist cinched in so dramatically suggested an impossibly narrow hourglass, and rumors had circulated (fueled by the occasional soft chime he swore he heard when she bent to pick up chalk) about a belly chain. But she never let it show. Not once.
Ananya felt the heat of those gazes like fingers ghosting over her skin. Her cheeks flushed beneath her light makeup; she tugged the pallu tighter across her midriff, fingers trembling slightly. "Focus on the text, please," she said softly, voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach. But inside, a forbidden spark ignited — the knowledge that her body, so carefully concealed, was the object of their quiet fantasies.
She moved to the blackboard, reaching up to write a quote. The motion pulled the saree taut across her hips; the pallu shifted minutely — just a fraction — allowing the faintest sliver of bare skin at her side to peek out for half a second before she adjusted it with practiced shyness. A collective, almost inaudible intake of breath rippled through the back rows. Arjun leaned forward, eyes locked on that brief flash.
Ananya's heart raced. She turned back to the class quickly, cheeks burning crimson, pretending not to notice. But she did. The accidental tease — unintentional yet electric — made her thighs press together beneath the saree. A tiny pulse of warmth bloomed low in her belly, right where that deep navel lay hidden, aching faintly for Rajesh's tongue.
The bell rang. Students shuffled out, casting lingering glances. Ananya gathered her books, pallu firmly in place again, and hurried to the staff room. Alone for a moment, she leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Her nipples had hardened into tight peaks against her bra from the secret thrill; she could feel them rubbing with every inhale.
By evening, when Rajesh picked her up in the car, she slid into the passenger seat still in the emerald saree, pallu slightly disheveled from the day's heat.
He noticed immediately. "You look flushed, jaan. Tough class?"
She bit her lip, shy smile curving. "They... stare. At my waist, my... everything. I keep covering up, but today the pallu slipped just a little when I wrote on the board."
Rajesh's hand tightened on the gearshift. "Slipped how?"
"Just... a tiny bit of skin. Side of my waist. Nothing much." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But they saw. I felt it."
He glanced at her, eyes darkening. "And you liked it? Being teased like that in front of them?"
Ananya looked down, fingers twisting in her lap. "No... yes... I don't know. It made me feel... exposed. But only for a second. Then I thought of you. How only you get to see all of me. Touch all of me."
The car sped toward Powai. Rajesh's free hand slid onto her thigh, pushing the saree up slowly. "Show me where it slipped."
She hesitated, then guided his fingers to her side, just above the hip. He traced the warm skin there, then higher — under the pallu, finding the edge of her navel. Even through the fabric barrier, he pressed, feeling the deep hollow yield.
Ananya gasped, thighs parting instinctively. "Rajesh... we're driving..."
"Then you'll have to be quiet." His thumb circled where her navel would be, pressing rhythmically. "Tonight, when we get home, I'm going to unwrap you slowly. Make you tell me every detail of those stares. And then..." He leaned closer at a red light, voice low and rough. "...I'm going to tease that navel until you're begging. Tongue deep inside while my fingers stroke you. Until you come so hard the bells on your chain ring like alarms."
Her breath hitched; she nodded, eyes glassy with anticipation.
The moment they entered the duplex, the door barely clicked shut before he pinned her against the wall. The pallu fell away in one swift tug. Her midriff — finally free — glowed in the evening light. The belly chain tinkled as he dropped to his knees.
He kissed the faint red mark where the saree had pressed all day, then lower — straight to that deep, oval navel. His tongue plunged in without preamble, swirling, sucking, while his hands gripped her hips.
Ananya moaned loudly, fingers in his hair. "The boys... they wanted this... but it's yours... only yours..."
Rajesh growled against her skin, tongue fucking deeper into the hollow. "Damn right." His fingers slipped lower, finding her already soaked through the petticoat. He rubbed her clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his tongue in her navel.
She came fast — thighs shaking, crying his name, the classroom tease transforming into pure, possessive ecstasy at home.
Later, in bed, oiled and slow-fucked from behind while he worshipped her navel again, she whispered against the pillow, "Tomorrow I'll dbang it even higher... so they want it more. But only you get to take it."
Rajesh thrust deeper, hand pressing firmly into her navel. "Good girl. Tease them all you want in class. But this body — every secret inch — comes home to me."
And so the delicious game continued: shy lecturer by day, accidental midriff tease in stolen moments, and Rajesh's insatiable, navel-obsessed wife by night.







The next day, Ananya decided to step away from the saree — partly to cool the strange heat that had been building in her all week, partly because the emerald one needed dry-cleaning after yesterday’s frantic unwrapping at home. She chose a simple yet fitted navy-blue sheath dress: knee-length, high neckline, three-quarter sleeves, thick fabric that was supposed to be professional and modest. But the cut was modern, body-skimming. It hugged her 34D chest more obviously than any blouse ever could, outlined the dramatic dip of her waist, and stretched taut across the generous curve of her hips and backside whenever she moved.
The moment she entered the classroom, the atmosphere shifted.
No rustle of saree, no protective pallu to hide behind. Every sway, every breath, every small adjustment of posture became far more visible. The dress clung without apology. When she turned to the board, the fabric pulled tight over her buttocks; when she leaned forward to point at a line in Wordsworth, the swell of her breasts pressed forward unmistakably. No navel flash needed — the entire silhouette screamed what the saree had only hinted at.
Arjun sat in his usual third-row seat, jaw tight. He barely blinked. His friends exchanged glances but said nothing; the room felt heavier today.
Ananya felt it too — the absence of that thin armor of cotton folds. She kept her movements smaller, voice firmer, trying to reclaim control through professionalism. But the stares were bolder, hungrier. She told herself it was just one day. Tomorrow she’d go back to sarees — higher, tighter, safer.
The bell rang. Most students filed out. Arjun stayed seated, notebook open, pen tapping slowly.
“Ma’am… doubt,” he said loudly when only three other boys remained near the door.
Ananya nodded politely. “Come forward.”
The remaining students left. The door clicked shut. Just the two of them now.
Arjun rose — tall, lanky but broad-shouldered, the kind of boy who looked like he spent more time in the gym than in the library. He walked to her desk with deliberate slowness.
“Such a beauty, ma’am,” he started, voice low, almost conversational. “Why no saree today? Yesterday you were… distracting. Today you’re impossible to ignore.”
Ananya stiffened. “Arjun, that’s inappropriate. Ask your doubt or leave.”
He didn’t move. Instead he stepped closer — too close — until the edge of her desk pressed into her thighs.
“You know what I think?” he murmured. “I think you like it. The way we look. The way I look.” His gaze dropped blatantly to her chest, then lower. “This dress… it’s like you’re punishing us. Or testing us.”
“Step back. Right now.”
He didn’t. Instead, with shocking audacity, he lifted his hand and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip — a slow, deliberate touch.
Ananya’s breath froze in her throat.
For one stunned second the world narrowed to that single point of contact.
Then something inside her snapped — hot, clean fury.
Her palm cracked across his cheek with a sound that echoed off the walls.
Arjun staggered half a step, more surprised than hurt.
“How dare you,” she hissed, voice shaking with rage. “Get out.”
He touched his reddening cheek, eyes narrowing into something darker than lust — something dangerous.
“You’ll regret that, ma’am.”
“Out.”
He smirked once — cold, promising — then turned and walked out.
Ananya stood trembling for several seconds before she grabbed her bag and marched straight to the principal’s office.
She reported everything. Word for word. The comment. The proximity. The touch on her lip. The principal — a stern woman in her fifties — listened without interruption, face hardening with every sentence.
Within forty minutes Arjun was called in. He denied nothing, only shrugged and said, “It was just a compliment.” That sealed it.
Suspension — immediate, two weeks minimum, pending disciplinary committee review. His ID card was collected at the gate. His brother was informed.
Vicky — Arjun’s elder brother, the smooth, powerful CEO at Rajesh’s company — received the call at 4:17 pm.














To be continued........

[kirak9484]

Ananya

Thankyou