It was Saturday morning, early 2010, head still thumping from last night’s tequila flood, but I couldn’t stay away—back at Visu’s room like some dumbass moth to a flame. Chennai’s heat was already creeping, that sticky buzz that made me want to peel everything off and start shit. Knew he’d be there—weekends are his Umaiyal days, waiting for Mom like a loyal dog—but I’d bet my ass he’d half-expected me to roll in again, wrecked or not. Last night’s mess—stripping, fingering myself silly, soaking his sofa—burned in my skull, shame twisting hard, but fuck it, I’d own it, shove it in his face.
Dressed sharp—tight shirt, no bra, tits pressing the fabric, short skirt riding high, high heels clicking loud. Pulled my hair into a ponytail, still damp from the shower, swiped mascara to stretch my lashes long, dabbed light blue shadow on my lids, pink lipstick with a slick line—19 and gorgeous, even if I doubted it sometimes. Stood there, heels making my chest bounce just right, knowing he’d clock it all—last night’s chaos still buzzing between us. Marched straight to his balcony, where he sat pretending to read some fat History of South India book, like I gave a shit. Flopped into the spare chair, crossed my legs—knee over knee—and yanked a cigarette from the pack I’d been clutching. Lit it quick, tossed the lighter and pack on the table between us, puffing slow, watching him dodge my vibe.
He played it cool, nose in his book—bullshit act. Tilted my head, read the title, smirked. Blew the smoke out sideways, aiming low, letting it curl toward the floor. “Softie, huh?” I tossed, voice light, teasing—defiance bubbling over the shame still gnawing my gut. He shut the book, set it down, eyes flicking to me. “How many cigs a day?” he asked, like he cared. Took a deep drag, savored it slow, then let it spill. “Tense days? Could burn through ten packs. Chill ones, maybe two—why you asking?” Grinned, sharp—let him stew.
He didn’t flinch, just stared at my eyes. “Mom never buy you bras?” Voice flat, but I caught the edge. Locked on him, matching his stare—fuck, he’s good at this. “Why’s she gotta? I grab my own shit. Last week, Venki—cousin prick—rolled in from somewhere, hauled a box of Victoria’s Secret bras and panties, sized me up perfect.” Took another drag, grinned through the smoke. “All fit like a glove—sat there modeling every piece till he fucked off.” Watched his face—blank, but I knew he was thinking about Mom, how he’d made her strut in lace too. Could’ve jabbed him—“You and her, huh?”—but didn’t, kept it loose, playful, shame from last night simmering under my skin.
He didn’t bite. I leaned in, smirking. “Bet you’re wondering why I’m like this today—class later, lecturer’s a drooling creep. Pops a boner every time I tease—figured I’d give him something to choke on.” Let my eyes drift to his lap, slow and deliberate—defiance spiking, shame fading fast. “Wanna see?” he shot back, dry as hell. Laughed, loud—“Know you too well, asshole!”—dropped my cig, crushed it under my heel. “Hungry—buy me food.” He hesitated—“Mom’ll look for you.” Snorted, stood, grabbed his arm. “Fridge’s got bananas—she’ll live. Move.” Dragged him out, all bossy—mine now, not hers.
He threw on shorts, a tee—RTR180 waiting outside. Slid behind him, thighs pressing close, heels making me tall enough to match his height if I stood. Bike roared, and I forgot myself—wind ripping through, his body warm against mine, weaving Delhi streets like a goddamn king. Hit Munirka Vihar McDonald’s—fast, wild, my kind of rush. “Any day, you’d make a killer boyfriend,” I said, winking—didn’t flinch at the speed, loved it, bikes my thing too. Ordered burgers, coffee—sat across, slurping, grinning. “Mom asked where I was last night—told her upstairs with you, all night.” Watched his eyes—panic flickered, shame pricked me, but I shoved it down, defiance rising. “Said yeah when she pushed.”
He swallowed hard—“Okay.” Knew he was scared—Mom catching us tangled up like this—but I didn’t let it show. “Party tonight—coming?” Didn’t wait. “Won’t fuck with you, limit the booze, play nice—sorry for last night.” Voice softened, shame creeping back—didn’t want it there, but it stuck. “You remember what happened?” he asked, low. Shrugged, casual, hiding the burn. “Not at first—hit me in the shower, full blast. Don’t wanna talk it—might get horny again.” Grinned, sharp—let him squirm.
He glared. “Don’t mess around—know how many college guys chase me? Even in our building…” Stood, pissed—defiance flaring over shame. He grabbed my arm, sat me down. “How old are you?” Eyes hard. Smirked—“Saw last night, didn’t you?” He didn’t flinch. “Not your body—your head. You’re not old enough.” Rolled my eyes—“Not marrying you, chill.” Anger spiked—“Fuck off, Sindhu,” he snapped, voice tight. Laughed, loud—“Motherfucker,” I shot back, grinning—meant it loose, playful, but it stung him, saw it in his flinch. “Said I’d tell Mom you raped me last night—what’s your move then?” Teased, defiance roaring—knew he’d laugh it off. He did, smirking. “Dream on—think she’d buy it from you? She’d trust me. Wanna test it?” Bastard turned it back—anger flared, but I grinned wider—game on.
“Fine, whatever—coming or not?” I pressed, circling back, impatience itching under my skin. He stared, steady, then laid it out. “Got conditions—dress proper, at least bra and panties, limit the booze when I say stop, and not one fucking ‘Fuck me’ slips out.” Defiance flared—fucker thinks he’s my keeper now? Laughed, sharp. “Big dreams—last night’s party had a dress code, this one’s different. Birthday bash—who shows up looking like trash?”
Evening rolled in—I strutted back, red tube top hugging tight, a little more makeup than morning—mascara thick, lips slick. Yanked the top down a bit, flashed the edge of my sleeveless bra. “See? Bra, panties—wanna check?” Grinned, teasing, half-daring him—shame from last night a dull hum, defiance roaring louder. He shot me a pleading look—“Least shave your arms.” Froze—my fuzz again? Glared, then stomped to his bathroom, razor buzzing quick—fuck the itch, I’d make it work. Cleaned up, we rolled out.
Birthday party wasn’t wild—no big chaos from me—but the booze flowed hard, and fuck if I could rein it in. Shots hit like punches, despair creeping under the buzz, loneliness gnawing despite the crowd—youth and beauty my only armor, like Bukowski said. Night blurred—Visu dragged me home, half-carrying my wrecked ass. Stumbled up, head spinning, and there she was—Umaiyal, outside, waiting like she knew we’d crash in messy.
Got to my room, dumped my shit—knew Mom’d probably sneak up to Visu’s soon, like she always does when the house quiets down. Shame from last night stung, but defiance roared louder—fuck it, I’d catch her this time. His windows are usually locked tight from inside—some paranoid habit—but I’d cracked one open days back, next to his bedroom, prying it loose with a screwdriver when no one was looking. Kept thinking one night it’d pay off, that I’d see what they do up there—her stained glow, his hands on her—and tonight felt like it. Didn’t rush—lay there a bit, head pounding, tequila still sloshing, letting the buzz settle. Then I heard it—soft steps, her door creaking—Mom heading up. Slipped out, quiet as hell, crept to his balcony window, peeked through the gap I’d made.
There she was—black silk nightgown, that Victoria’s Secret shit he’d gotten her, sliding over her curves like a goddamn tease. Visu grabbed a cigarette—my pack, cheeky bastard—lit it slow, Mom taking one too, both puffing in silence. Air thick, heavy—felt it even from outside, shame and desire twisting tight in my gut. She shut the door, tossed her legs on his lap—bare, pedicured, glowing—and he rubbed them, steady, like he owned her. Watched her sigh, bra straining under that gown, tits shifting—anger flared, why her?—but I couldn’t look away. Cigarettes died, and she spilled it—“Sindhu said you two are in love.” Voice low, eyes worried—fuck, my lie hit her hard. He dodged—“She knows about us”—calm, too calm. Then she cracked—“Said she’d tell me you raped her”—and he laughed, soft, like it was nothing.
Mom didn’t laugh—her face froze, stuck somewhere I couldn’t read. He pulled her close, buried his face in her neck—her bra strap dug into his hand, and it slid, slow, under that gown, kneading her tit like it was his right. I peeked through the window, shame prickling my scruffy skin, but defiance simmered—I’d outshine her yet. Mom grabbed Visu’s lips, fierce, wild—clawed his face, shoving him to the bedroom, gown off, panties yanked, bare fast. Sucked him quick, rode him hard—hips slamming—and he came fast, groaning, spent in minutes, collapsing under her. Surprise hit me—fuck, she didn’t cum, just slumped there, calm, like she’d planned it. That ’09 blowjob flashed—him forcing her deep, cumming quick while she choked, same deal, him done, her left hanging. Thought that’s it—but then she went at him again, mouth on his limp dick, sucking slow, steady, like it was her damn mission. I smirked—flaccid, useless, what’s she even trying?—but five minutes in, it twitched, thickened, hardening under her lips, her lifetime duty to pull him back. Shock ripped through me—fuck, she’s doing it—desire flared, nipples tightening, a wet ache pooling low, my breath catching as I watched her craft him strong again.
She climbed on—cowgirl, hips rolling slow—and I couldn’t look away, horny as hell, heat spreading. Took forever—15, 20 minutes—his hands roamed her breasts, teasing her nipples, but she slapped them off, sharp, like his touch broke her focus. He didn’t try again—kept them away—and she rode harder, thighs flexing, chasing it, till she shook, cumming fierce, a full, wild rush, hair thrashing. Surprise turned to want—’09, he’d ruled her; here, she’s the master, using him, stretching it till she wins. Wanted to be him—forcing her like that night, owning her—but fuck, wanted to be her too, riding him raw, making him wait till I burst. Horniness burned—hand slipped into my pants, past my panties, rubbing my clit fast, nipples hard, wet pulsing—nearly hit it with them, right as she did, panting, split raw between shame I’m out here and defiance I’d do it better, take them both my way.
She cleaned up, kissed him soft—“Thought you were her boyfriend for a sec, that’s why”—and crashed, leg over him, out cold. I slipped back, head spinning—not just booze, but them, that fire I’d lit. Hours later, couldn’t sleep—eyes burning, red from no rest—grabbed my phone, pinged him online, request to add. He bit—logged on—and I hit him: “You, motherfucker.” Grinned—meant it loose, playful, but knew it’d sting. “Please don’t call me that,” he shot back—soft, rattled. Smirked, tossed a winking smiley. “Check your bedsheets.” Waited—knew he’d see her there, naked, tangled—my win, my mess. Stood outside his window, 4 a.m., watching—he flipped me off, fingers sharp—“Fuck you.” Laughed—“I’m waiting”—and bolted, defiance roaring over the shame still clawing my chest.
Came back quick—Mom gone, his room empty—eyes still red, no sleep. Leaned on his bathroom wall while he showered, buzzing. “Was good, huh?” Started, casual—anger simmering, desire prickling. “Watched it all—fuck, you two go hard, felt it from outside. Should’ve recorded it—internet’s dry of good shit, you know?” He froze, water splashing—didn’t look. Stepped in, bold—shower mist hitting me, his hands fumbling to cover. “Masks on, us two—video?” Pleaded, half-teasing—anger spiking, wanting him to bite. “Got sites if you need,” he dodged, smirking—eyes on mine, then slipping low when I didn’t flinch. Grabbed his balls—hard—“Why not me, asshole?” Squeezed tighter, pain flashing his face—“One day, I’ll crush you, watch”—let go, stormed out. “Don’t pull that again,” he called, calm—fuck him, I’d won that round.
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