My Steamy Story: Sandhya an average looking north indian....

My Story Time:

Okay, bet. Spill the tea on my pathetic little life. I'm Sandhya, an assistant professor, but let's be for real—I'm basically a ghost. Fair skin, sure, but everything else is mid AF. Wavy hair with zero drip, always in some unkempt, wrinkled saree. My only real talent is my filthy, trash-talking mouth, which I use constantly because I'm high-key jealous of everyone. I see these local goons teasing a girl on campus, and no cap, it makes me so wet. Like, the sheer dominance of it? Iconic. Meanwhile, my pussy is a desert. Nobody even looks at me.

So this one day, this new boy, Aravind, struts in. Sheesh. Typical South Indian, super dark-skinned but with these sharp, arrogant features that could cut glass. Came from some big-shot political family, thought he owned the place, treated us teachers like his personal slaves. The audacity. We got into it outside an empty classroom, just him and me in the corridor. He was being extra, and I just lost it. My bad blood boiled over, and I slapped him across his arrogant face. The sound echoed, and for a second, we were both shook.

But then he didn't even flinch. A slow, dangerous smile spread on his face. "You like to play rough, Professor?" he growled, his voice low. Before I could even clap back, he pinned me against the cold wall, his hard body crushing my unkempt saree. One hand slid right under my petticoat, his rough fingers finding my soaking wet pussy. "Look at this," he whispered, his thumb circling my clit, making me gasp. "All this dirty talk, and you're this desperate for it." He shoved two fingers inside me, and I moaned, my head falling back. OMG, I was finally getting the attention I was so thirsty for, and it was everything.