Meera Kapoor had always believed kindness was her strength. At 34, she was the favorite English teacher at St. Xavier's High School in Mumbai—a warm, curvaceous woman with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders, soft hazel eyes that sparkled with genuine care, and a figure that turned heads in the staff room: full, heavy breasts that strained against her modest sarees, a narrow waist flaring into wide hips and a plush, rounded ass that swayed unconsciously as she walked the corridors. Her students adored her for the way she listened, for the gentle hugs she offered when tears fell over failed exams or family troubles. Her husband, Vikram, was the opposite: a stern 38-year-old math teacher whose cold ranking system and sharp tongue made him feared more than respected.
The trouble started innocently enough. Vikram had publicly humiliated Rohan Sharma, an 18-year-old senior with a rebellious streak—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features, tousled black hair, and piercing dark eyes that hid a calculating mind beneath his lazy smirks. Rohan had scored low again, and Vikram's scolding had been brutal: "You're wasting everyone's time, Sharma. Bottom of the class—again." Meera, overhearing in the staff room later, confronted Vikram at home that night. "You can't treat them like numbers, Vikram! They're kids—they need encouragement, not humiliation." Her words were passionate, protective, but they backfired spectacularly.
The next day, Meera comforted a crying junior girl in the empty corridor after class—a simple, maternal hug that lasted seconds too long for a hidden phone camera. Rohan had snapped the photo from around the corner, the angle making it look compromising: Meera's arms wrapped around the girl, her blouse dipping low enough to show cleavage, faces close. By evening, anonymous whispers reached the principal— "inappropriate conduct"—and Meera was called in, nearly suspended, her job hanging by a thread. Vikram's harsh reputation only fueled the gossip; protecting him meant protecting their shared income, their life.
The next afternoon, as Meera sat trembling in the staff room, her phone buzzed with an unknown number. "Mrs. Kapoor," Rohan's voice purred, low and confident, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "We need to talk. About that photo... and how I can make it disappear. For your sake—and Mr. Kapoor's. Meet me in the old storage room behind the auditorium after school. Come alone if you want to protect your husband."
Her heart pounded, a mix of fear and anger, but she went. The storage room was dim and dusty, old desks stacked high, the air thick with the musty scent of forgotten books and faint chalk residue, a single bulb flickering overhead. Rohan was already there, leaning against a table, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal a glimpse of toned chest, eyes raking over her body as she entered in her light blue saree, the fabric clinging to her sweat-damp curves in the humid heat.
"You bastard," Meera whispered, voice shaking. "Delete it now."
Rohan smirked, holding up his phone—the photo glaring on the screen. "Not yet, teacher. Your hug looked... intimate. One email to the principal, and you're fired. Your cold husband gets dragged down too—harassment claims against both of you. But I like you, Mrs. Kapoor. You're kind. Caring." His gaze dropped blatantly to her heaving bosom, then lower, where her saree draped over her wide hips. "I can delete it. Protect you both. If you... show me some of that kindness."
Meera's breath hitched, cheeks flushing with humiliation and a traitorous heat she hated. "What do you want?"
Rohan's eyes darkened with lust as he stepped closer, the bulge in his pants already straining. "You. On your knees first, teacher. Suck my cock like the caring slut you hide under that saree."
Tears pricked her eyes, but the thought of losing everything—her job, Vikram's reputation—forced her down. The dusty floor scraped her knees through her petticoat as she knelt, hands trembling as she unzipped him. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, longer than Vikram's, the swollen head already leaking precum, the musky male scent hitting her like a wave in the confined space.
"Suck it, Mrs. Kapoor," Rohan growled, gripping her hair gently at first, guiding her full lips to his shaft.
Meera parted her mouth reluctantly, tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead, then taking him in—warm, velvety heat filling her as she bobbed slowly, saliva coating his length in slick strands that dripped down her chin onto her blouse. Rohan groaned low, hips thrusting shallowly, fucking her mouth with increasing rhythm as obscene slurping sounds echoed off the stacked desks. Her massive tits heaved with each gag, nipples stiffening traitorously against the fabric as unwanted arousal pooled between her thighs, her pussy lips swelling and leaking into her panties.
"Fuck, your mouth is heaven," Rohan panted, pulling out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting them. He yanked her up roughly, spinning her to bend over a dusty table—hiking her saree and petticoat up to expose her big, round ass in soaked black panties, the crotch dark and clinging to her shaved pink folds.
"Please... delete the photo after," Meera whimpered, but her body betrayed her, ass pushing back as he ripped the panties aside.
Rohan rubbed his slick cockhead along her dripping slit—teasing her engorged clit until she moaned despite herself—then slammed in balls-deep with one brutal thrust. Her tight, married pussy stretched around his girth, walls clenching greedily as he bottomed out, head battering her cervix. "Ahh! So fucking tight—better than I dreamed, teacher!"
He pounded her mercilessly—wet slaps echoing in the room, his heavy balls smacking her clit with every drive, her creamy juices frothing around his shaft and splattering her thighs. Meera's moans turned slutty and broken—"Oh god... too deep... ahh ahh!"—her massive tits bouncing wildly, saree pallu falling to expose them as she gripped the table, sweat beading on her skin, the dusty air thick with the sharp tang of sex.
Rohan gripped her hips hard, bruising, rutting like an animal for long minutes until tension snapped—they came simultaneously: her cunt spasming in violent waves, squirting hot floods around his cock that soaked the floor; his shaft pulsing thick ropes deep into her womb, filling her married hole with student seed until it leaked in pearly globs down her legs.
Panting, Rohan pulled out slowly, watching his cum gush from her gaping pink lips. He deleted the photo in front of her—true to his word—but smirked as he tucked himself away. "This protects your husband... for now. But I'll need more kindness soon, teacher."
Meera collapsed against the table, body trembling in aftershocks and shame, pussy throbbing with forbidden fullness as his cum leaked steadily. The blackmail had just begun—and deep down, in the humid haze of guilt and ecstasy, she wondered how long she could resist craving it again.