The morning light was harsh, me and Danish, completely nude, Bedsheets dishevelled, and the slight red bite mark on my shoulder. Danish was already awake and watching me. It was not a look of regret, but a look of great consideration, even clinical.
"You're not the same woman who took off for that workshop," he said in a low rumbling voice in the quiet room. He reached out, and his fingers massaged the line of my jaw. "I don't believe the female who went and interviewed at the DP School is this woman here now," I turned, I was still sweetly sore between the legs from the night.
"What is it you are saying?" I asked. "Well, I'm saying," he said, carefully considering his words, "that cage was broken. But you've created a new cage for yourself, haven't you? You put the 'good teacher' in a box, and only let her out in this room with me. the 'professional woman'. You let her out with me and only me. The 'slut' I unleashed... You put her in a box, and only let her out with me."
The term 'slut' struck the dry tinder like a spark. I winced, but yet a thrill was coursing through me. He saw it. He saw everything. "Why?" he quietly whispered. "Why should she be a secret? That's a strong woman, that's a free woman, that's the most interesting part of you."
He moved closer, his lips touching my ear. "I want you to be free, Zeenat. Truly free, not just from me, but for everything. I want to see what happens as you walk out here, with that power in your hands, into that school's hallways."
My heart pounded in my rib cage. "What do you mean?"
I mean," he whispered conspiratorially, "I want you to play. I want you to experiment. That boy... Mr Singh, on the interview panel... he looked at you as if he wanted to devour you. What would it feel like to let him? Just a little? To love him, not to leave me, but to experience some new kind of power - the power of being wanted by someone new."
He rolled over upon me, holding me softly, the knee between my legs. "Imagine it," he breathed, his hand sliding down my stomach, his fingers finding the sensitive flesh of my cunt, he had worshipped hours before. "You're in your classroom, you're teaching your physics lesson and he's sitting there watching you, not only listening to your lesson, but watching your mouth when you talk, watching the way your blouse slides across your bust when you write on the board. What would you do? In what ways might you push the limits?"
I gasped when his fingers started to encircle, slow and deliberate. "I... I don't know."
"Yes, you do," he insisted, hypnotically caressing. "You'd lean over his desk to help him with a problem. You'd let your fingers brush his. You'd wear a sari that drapes just so. You'd give him a look that would say, 'I see you looking and I like it.'"
He was training me. He was arming me.
"It's our love," he whispered, as he quickened his finger's pace inside my cunt. "It's our base. It's our home. It will remain unchanged forever. But it's just... research. Exploration. I want to see you become this woman, I want to hear all about it when you get home," he gestured towards the outside world, "every detail."
He positioned himself, his cock hard and ready, just at my pussy entrance. You bring them all back to our bed," he growled, "and we will fuck them into our story."
The idea was horrid. It was exhilarating. My nails gripped his back and I gasped as he started to insert his dick head inside through my pussy gate. He started fucking. His thrusts were deep and measured and contrasted with the frenzied passion of the night before.
He whispered, "I want to know you shiver under him; I want to know you taste different when he kisses you, I want to know everything, because you are mine, Zeenat; everything you feel, everything you love."
His words and his body continue to work together, to undo me completely, and he started to fuck me faster. "Now," he said, his voice thick with lust, with love. "Tell me you'll try, tell me you'll be the woman I see when I look at you."
"Yes," I wailed, the sound driven out of me by the flood of joy. "Yes, Danish, I will try."
He gave me a kiss that was both a seal and a surrender, and lost himself in me and we lost our way, in hope of a new, dangerous game in the air between us.
My first day at The DP School was a baptism by fire. The students, particularly the senior boys. were fearless, their eyes piercing and assessing, and they tore me apart with just one glance. I could see their eyes on me every minute and walking from the staff room to my classroom was like a journey through a gauntlet. I went for the invisibility thing, I went for the professionalism, it went wrong.
I had selected a modesty dress, a sari which is white and ivory cotton, but it only made me look more appealing. It was the pallu over my shoulder, the tight-fitting blouse around my chest, the soft touch of the garment around my waist and hips as I walked the corridors, all this was a minefield of unwanted attention. I could feel their curious gaze gazing at me at the navel of my body, where they were taking the anchor, and on the curve of my hips. The long, dark hair was as much a part of my appearance as my face, and there were some of the bolder boys who made crude remarks about how they'd like to see it undone.
Each morning was an ordeal - I had to wear something that won't draw comments on my outfit and somehow, no matter what I wore, I felt like I was failing to do it properly. I was an unnatural nuisance in their world, a slip of old-fashioned grace in a soup of new and predatory confidence, and they are all sharks sniffing out my lack of experience, my fear.
And true to his word, Danish was my coach. Each night, our dinner discussions turned to debriefs. He would ask me about Singh, swirling the juice in his glass. The captain was 'Rohan Singh'. What's his game?" I would tell what happened that day, becoming bolder with every word. He's smart. He doesn't just ask questions about physics, he asks... personal questions. Disguised as intellectual curiosity. Today, he asked me whether 'emotional entanglement' might be a variable in experimental design. A hearty and proud laugh, Danish laughed. He's up to that kind of stuff: He sees if the 'physics teacher' is just a role. What did you say?" I said smiling, "I told him that the entanglement couldn't be measured, but it was felt by the observer." And I looked him in the eye when I told him. Danish's eyes got dark with a look of approval. He laid his hand over my hand across the table. "Good, very good. Tomorrow, I want you to give him something to look at, I want you to have your hair down. And that deep green sari, that one makes your eyes look like emeralds."
I did as he said the next day. It was an instant result. I was able to feel the eyes grow more intense in the hallway. Rohan Singh's eyes were set to glued on my body in my class. At the ring of the bell, he hung around. He spoke in a smooth voice and addressed me as Ms. Parveen and his voice was smooth like silk. "That sari is... a piece of art. The drape is a study in applied physics, you know. Tension, balance, structural integrity." I laughed, a light, airy laugh, I didn't know I could laugh like that. "Is it that you are studying how I am dressed, Mr Singh, or flirting with me?"
"Can't it be both?" he countered, his disarming grin.
There is a debate team after school, we are talking about moral dilemmas in scientific progress - your opinion would be... invaluable. It was an invitation. A blatant one. My heart raced. I recalled the words of Danish: Let's give him something else to watch!
I tried to cheer up, turned away with a small smile in my face, and said, "I'll see if I can make it."
I shared all of that with Danish that night. I sat in his arms on the sofa, while he was sitting on the sofa, and I was telling him about the encounter. I mentioned about Rohan's invitation for debate, and he gripped me even tighter.
"Go," he whispered into my hair. "Go to the debate practice and then sit in his line of sight, cross your legs, let your sari open slightly above your ankle and observe him as he thinks you're not looking.
"And then what?" I breathed, the game, and his instructions already resonating in my body.
"Then," he said, his hand gliding up my inner thigh over my black thin leggings, "you come home. And you tell me everything."
Debate practice was a lot of fun. The intellectual exchange, the keen minds, the electric atmosphere. I was sitting in the back and, as usual, Rohan kept looking at me from time to time. I did my bit, bent forward, ready, seemingly, to hear a word from the speakers but my senses were all on him. I noticed how his eyes would look at my neck; on the curve of my hip, where I would sit.
Then when it was empty, he walked up to me and said -- "So? What are your thoughts on it?"
I stood up, and said, "Fascinating. Rohan, you're a very convincing speaker."
"Well, I do my best to be," he said, approaching me. There was a crackle between us in the air. He added, "I was hoping we can finish the conversation over a cup of coffee, I'd like to go there, it's close by." This was it. First step off the cliff. I spoke with a calm voice, "I can't tonight. But... thanks for offering."
He was disappointed but then he was determined again. "Another time, then."
I walked off, legs wobbling, on top of the world and fearing I was going to fail. I had done it. I had flirted. I had held back. I had made a flame.
Upon my return, the house was dark except for the light of one lamp in the living room. Danish was waiting. He was merely sitting quietly, waiting, in shadow.
I did close the door and his eyes got to mine. I didn't have to say a word. He knew. He got to his feet and a barrage of silent questions flooded the air.
So, I approached him, this evening's story buzzing in my veins. "He asked for coffee," I whispered, I whispered. Danish's jaw stiffened, but his eyes lit with a hungry, predator's gaze. "And?" I was now standing before him, standing so close, I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"I denied but I wanted to say yes, Danish..." it was like a current running through me. His face was lit up with a slow and dangerous smile. "Good," he breathed. "That is the emotion, that is the strength."
He moved his thumb on my lower lip. "You stopped, you made him want more, tell me everything, every look, every word." I told him, "Rohan was disappointed, but he looked determined." I said as he followed me to my room.
Danish's hands drifted over my body as if it were his own. "He wants you," Danish said, his voice laced with satisfaction. "He is thinking about you now, wondering what it'll take for you to say yes." His fingers delicately hooked under the edge of my sari's pallu, moving it slowly. "But you'll come home to me," he whispered, his voice intimate and low.
"You'll always come home to me." He slowly peeled my layers of clothes, with excruciating patience. My nipples stiffened, with every blouse button he opened. His knuckles rested against my ribs in a slow motion, almost a reverent motion as he found the knot of my petticoat. It was worshipful and possessive, taking his palms and tracing the curves of my waist, then up, the outline of my body with his palms.
I stood before him in my jewels only and he slowly circled me, his eyes dark with desire. He lowered me onto the bed, in a manner which was mild considering the intensity of his gaze.
The sheets were cold on my back as he perched next to me, leaning with one elbow. He ran his fingers through my hair and then through the line of my jaw, the hollow of my throat, the dip that my collar bones made.
His mouth trailed where his fingers had been too, tender open-mouthed kisses that left behind warm tracks on my skin. He placed his finger at my earlobe, his breath making me shiver. It was not a rush, but a probing kiss that pulled my breath from my lips when his lips finally met mine.
Slowly his hands moved on, picking up on the curves, the sensitive spots that made me gasp. He had a lot of time to find and understand me again, to show me where I fit. It was a reclamation, a passionate declaration, a silent one, that this desire, this pleasure, was mine to give and his to receive.
My skin tingled with anticipation, and his lips moved down my neck, creating a warm, wet path. His tongue peeked out at my pulse, his lips moving towards my boobs, as his hands pulled away my blouse. His hands then explored the tender skin on my inner thighs, his hands gentle, yet electric. I arched into him and silently pleaded for more, but he proceeded his slow pace, always trying to savor every moment.
His mouth moved around my chest, to my nipple, his tongue rolling around the curve and licking it in before taking it into his mouth, the soft sucking feeling rippling my whole body.
He whispered against my skin, "You are so responsive. "So beautiful." His fingers danced on my stomach, dipping down with each stroke, teasing me, making me wet with anticipation.
I was feeling the heat in my lady parts, and only he could ease it.
As his mouth finally met my cunt, I cried out, my own fingers intertwined in his hair as he explored me with the same intensity he had the other parts of my body.
Every touch, every kiss, was a reminder of our connection, our intimacy.
He knew where and how to make me go mad and how to bring me back.
As I accepted the waves of ecstasy as they flooded me, I had no doubt that I would definitely make my way back to him. I gasped for air as a succession of blissful waves waxed and waned. His mouth continued to explore carefully and his tongue made patterns that made my toes curl and my back arch off the bed.
He was able to feel my body like he was more familiar with me than I was with myself, and he would find areas that were sensitive that I wasn't even aware of.
Finally, when he hovered over me, his eyes were dark, with desire in them and his chest rose and fell with every measured breath. He stood between my legs and his dick was rubbing on my entrance teasing me what was about to happen. He didn't realise when he got rid of his underwear and boxers. He softly said "Look at me" and I opened my eyes to look at him.
He pushed his dick into me inch by agonizing inch, his eyes never taking their eyes off of mine. I gasped at first length, and my body was able to stretch to accommodate his size as I had him completely inside of me. Once he was all the way inside, he halted and we both enjoyed the feeling of being connected.
He whispered, "Always mine" to my lips before he was to move. At first he was playing it slow, then he was doing deep, deliberate ones, each time leaving me void before he filled me again. The friction slowly suppressed, making the moves easier.
Grasped around his waist, I pulled him in further and asked only for more in silence. As he glided his hands over my skin, he was learning all about me. We heard ourselves breathing, we heard soft moans, the glossy sounds of our bodies moving together in perfect harmony, the room was full of our noise. The closer we got, the stronger our bond became. Every thrust was a proclamation, every touch a reaffirmation of a bond between us. I could sense the tension rising in my belly, the pleasure intensifying until it began to become overwhelming.
"Come for me," he commanded desperately, his lips thick with lust. "Let me feel you." All needed to push me over the edge were his words. I felt my orgasm bubble up in me like a tidal wave, and my body shook with him in it as every sensation of pleasure washed over me.
I called his name; my fingers clutched in his shoulder as wave after wave of ecstasy surged over me. He followed soon after, his motions now erratic, he found his own release. His body tensed with a guttural moan, his essence pouring out of him with a final deep thrust, as he sank into me.
Afterwards we were sprawled out in a pile, sweaty and our breathing slowly returning to normal. He kissed my forehead, my eyelids, his fingertips to my nose tip, all tender kisses that meant so much to me. You'll always come home to me," he whispered again, but this time it was not a question or a demand, but a statement of fact - one I knew in my heart to be true.
I fell asleep in his arms and had no doubts that if my life took me anywhere, I was meant to be there, in his bed, and in his heart, and in his arms.
On the next day at school, Rohan was more courageous. He caught me in the staff room, which was empty at lunch time. I was standing at the door frame with my face turned towards the door, so he could lean against it and block me from leaving, saying, "Ms. Parveen..." I've been thinking about the discussion and your refusal.
I refused to give him my full attention right away, as I was organizing papers on my desk. It was a power play taught by Danish. Undeterred, he added, "I have. I've decided you're not interested. You're just... cautious. I respect you, but I'm a determined guy. I believe in going for what I want."
I finally lifted my eyes, eye to eye with him. "So, what do you want Mr Singh?" There was a flicker of surprise on his face and then there was admiration of my directness. "I want to know who the woman is who is this brilliant teacher. I want to know what makes you laugh. I want to know what you look like when you're not talking about quantum mechanics." He was good. Very good. "That's a lot of wanting," I said, a smile playing on my lips.
He said, "I am a man of many desires. Let me take you out for coffee and no games, just conversation. If you don't like it, you don't have to see me outside of this school ever again."
I gave Danish Rohan's ultimatum that evening. We were in the kitchen, and I was standing on the counter, he stood behind me and his hands were on my hips. I said, "He cornered me."
Danish spoke with expressionless face, "what would you like to do?"
I said, "I... I think I should go. Just once. To see. To feel what it's like. Is that crazy?"
"No," he said with a sternness in his tone. It's the next lesson, you have to know what it feels like to be desired while sitting across from him in public, at a table. He pressed his forehead to mine.
Here's the rule: you go; you have your coffee; you enjoy his attention; you let him charm you; you do not touch him; you do not let him touch you; you come home, and you come back to me. Can you do that?
"Yes," I whispered, my heart pounding with a combination of fear and excitement.
He kissed me, a deep, possessive kiss. And asked me to proceed.
The coffee shop was a pretty lively establishment. Rohan had picked a corner table which was somewhat obscured. He was good-natured, kind and bright. He talked about his dreams, family, and passion for astrophysics. He asked me the question about my life, my studies, my dreams. He never once said anything about my husband. I was not 'bhabhi' or even 'Ms. Parveen' for an hour. I was just Zeenat. A man and a woman drinking coffee and talking.
As he dropped me off at the school parking lot, there was a lot of untold possibility in the air between us. "I had a great time, Zeenat," he said, my name rolling easily and soundly on his tongue. Y
"Yes," I said, "Me too, Rohan."
He leaned in a little more, his eyes darting over to my lips. Now it was the moment of truth. I stood firm but I didn't run away. I held my breath for a second and then I backed up a few feet, interrupting the moment. "I should go," I said softly.
He understood. He nodded and there was a certain respect in his expression of false disappointment. "See you tomorrow then."
I didn't only tell Danish about the coffee that night. I showed him. I began to recite Rohan's words and his charm and the moment he almost kissed me and the hands of Danish grew rougher, his kisses more demanding. He fucked me against the wall without any pre play, hard and fast, like how he wanted to get the memory of another man out of my system.