Character
Female Lead – Rima (38)
Chapter 1
Rima had never liked walking through the basti road.
It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.
She had seen worse in life. Her NGO work had taken her to flood zones, red light lanes, hospital morgues.
But this narrow, hot street… with half-naked boys washing themselves outside, the smell of sweat, fish, and kerosene… it unsettled her.
Today, she had taken that path again. Her office was close by, and the auto had dropped her early. She adjusted her dupatta, carried her file in one hand, and walked fast. Eyes low, chin high.
She didn’t look at them. But she knew they were looking.
And then she saw him.
Sitting on a cement block, one foot up, chewing something. His shirt was open, his chest dark and damp. He looked younger — maybe late twenties — but his eyes weren’t boyish.
He didn’t whistle. He didn’t smile. He didn’t call out.
He just stared.
And Rima, without wanting to, felt that stare.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t respectful either.
It was… casual. Confident. Like he had all the time in the world to study her — from her face to her waist to her hips, all the way down to the edge of her sari.
She walked past him.
Her skin itched.
The next turn couldn’t come fast enough.
She didn’t look back. But the heat behind her neck refused to leave.
That evening, she scolded herself for even noticing.
She made her son’s dinner. She called her old mother. She folded clothes, washed her face, tied her hair up.
And yet, before going to bed, she passed by the mirror once more.
She didn’t stop.
But she moved a little slower.
The next day, Rima took the same route again.
She told herself it was because the other street was closed for repairs, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.
The basti road, with its cracked walls and puddles of old water, felt strange — and yet, oddly familiar.
As she walked, the smell of smoke from a small fire mixed with the faint scent of wet earth after the rain. Children played near a shop, and women sat chatting, their faces warm and bright under the afternoon sun.
Rima’s steps were measured, her eyes careful but calm. She wore her usual cotton sari, a deep maroon with thin golden borders. Her blouse was plain, neat, buttoned to the neck, covering her collarbones.
She noticed how the sunlight caught the curve of her neck, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the cloth. Not with pride, but with a quiet awareness.
She was a woman used to control — in her work, her home, her life.
Yet as she passed by a small group of boys sitting on a wall, she caught a glimpse of the same young man from before.
He was not staring now.
His eyes flickered toward her, then away, like he was unsure.
But she noticed.
And something deep inside her stirred.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Curiosity.
She quickened her pace.
At home, her son was waiting, his homework spread across the kitchen table.
Rima smiled, kissed his forehead, and asked about his day.
Still, her mind drifted back to the street — to the boy with the quiet stare, to the heat she felt without explanation.
Later, when the house was quiet and the fan hummed softly overhead, Rima sat by the window, gazing out.
The night was cool, the stars hidden behind the haze.
She thought about the path she took — the one that felt uncomfortable, and yet, somehow, right.
And she whispered to herself:
Rima again next day walked the narrow alleyway as the late afternoon sun dipped behind the grimy rooftops.
A small group of men lounged near a worn-out wall, their voices low but rough, carried easily in the humid air.
They spoke among themselves, their eyes briefly flicking toward her as she passed.
“Look at her,” one said, voice thick with amusement, “She’s got curves—big ones. Damn, she’s something.”
Another chuckled, “Yeah, that figure... like she owns the whole street.”
Their words were crude, careless, but distant — as if she was nothing more than a shape, a thing to admire from afar.
Then, the youngest of them, the boy who had been watching her quietly for days, sneered quietly, cutting through the chatter.
“She’s no prize. Ugly as hell. Just a dark cow trying to act fancy.”
His words fell sharp and cold in the warm air.
The others laughed, half agreeing, half teasing.
Rima heard everything, the laughter, the crude praise, the bitterness in his voice.
Her heart tightened, not with anger, but with a strange, unspoken weight.
She kept her gaze fixed ahead, her steps steady.
Inside, a quiet storm brewed.
She was seen, reduced, and yet untouched.
The moment lingered like a silent invitation — something she was not ready to understand.
Got it! So Rima recognizes him clearly as the boy from the slum road — she’s seen him often and knows who he is by face and attitude — but she doesn’t know his name yet. That makes their first real exchange at the office a moment where she learns his name, but the emotional tension is all hers, while he stays cool and indifferent.
Chapter 2
Rima sat in her office, still unsettled from the lingering thoughts of the slum road and the boy she had seen there so many times. She heard the door creak open and looked up.
There he was — the same lean young man, dark-skinned, rough, with those cocky, unreadable eyes. The boy who had called her a “dark cow” and stirred strange feelings she couldn’t place.
He didn’t smile or make any fuss. Just stood quietly, holding out a small parcel.
“Parcel for you,” he said bluntly.
Rima took the parcel, her fingers brushing his rough hand. Her pulse quickened despite herself.
“Thank you,” she said softly, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know his name.
“Arjun,” he said, almost as if reading her mind, before turning to leave.
Rima blinked. Arjun.
She opened a cupboard to find a glass, but there was none. Feeling suddenly thirsty, she looked up.
“Um, do you… have water here? I couldn’t find any,” she asked awkwardly.
Arjun paused, then smirked slightly. “Office no water? I deliver water too. Fresh water jar. Want one?”
Rima was surprised. “You do?”
He nodded, setting a large water jar beside the door. “Every day. You tell me.”
The air between them was thick — her heart racing, his indifferent.
Over the next days, Arjun came regularly — sometimes with parcels, sometimes with water. Their exchanges were brief, his words few, but each time Rima felt more drawn in by his quiet confidence.
She watched him closely, her feelings stirring quietly as the distance between them slowly began to shrink.
Chapter 3
Rima was alone in her small office, bending down to search for some files under her desk. As she moved, her sari slipped a little, exposing more of the curve of her chest beneath the blouse. The afternoon light caught the soft outline of her cleavage.
At that moment, the door opened and Arjun stepped in, carrying the usual parcel and the large water jar.
His eyes flicked down and caught the sight, but he didn’t say anything. No whistle, no smile. Just a quick, casual glance as if it was nothing.
He placed the heavy water jar on the floor, not bothering to put it on the filter as usual.
Rima’s throat suddenly felt dry. She wanted a drink, but the jar was too low. She hesitated, biting her lip, unsure how to ask him to put it higher.
Deciding to do it herself, she bent down to lift the jar.
It slipped.
Water spilled everywhere — soaking her blouse, running cold and wet over her skin.
Before she could react, strong hands grabbed her arms, steadying her.
She froze, the sudden contact sending a shock through her.
She smelled him then — the raw scent of sweat and earth, heavy and real.
Arjun’s grip was firm but matter-of-fact, like he was just doing his job, not noticing the tension in the air.
He didn’t say a word. He just held her steady while she regained her balance.
Rima’s breath hitched, her face burning with embarrassment and something else — a strange stirring deep inside.
But Arjun remained indifferent, eyes flicking back to the jar.
Arjun stepped out after setting the water jar, leaving Rima alone in the quiet office. The wet sari and blouse clung to her skin uncomfortably, cool droplets tracing along her arms and neck. She hesitated only a moment before beginning to peel off the sodden fabric, careful and slow. Her fingers trembled as she folded the wet sari, then unbuttoned the blouse, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage, still damp and sensitive.
A flush rose in her cheeks — she wasn’t used to feeling this exposed, even in an empty room. But the warmth that bloomed inside her was undeniable, stirring something she had long kept hidden.
Just as she began to rub at her arms, trying to warm herself, the office door opened again. Arjun was back. He stood framed by the doorway, eyes sharp, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He had forgotten something, but the way he looked at her was anything but casual.
Rima froze. Her heart thudded painfully loud in her chest. She was half undressed, vulnerable — a feeling both terrifying and strange.
Arjun closed the door behind him with a soft click. The room seemed smaller now, the air thick and heavy.
Arjun didn’t wait for an invitation. The moment he saw Rima alone, vulnerable, her sari half off and skin flushed, he just went for it. No fancy words, no slow build-up — just sharp, direct.
He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close with a hungry edge in his eyes. Rima’s breath hitched, surprised but something inside her melted instantly. It had been so long since a man had touched her like this — not with softness or romance, but with rough, sure intent.
Before she could think twice, he pressed his lips to hers, hard and demanding. His hands roamed boldly, undoing buttons, slipping beneath the fabric. Rima’s body responded before her mind caught up — her skin burning, heart racing.
There was no foreplay, no teasing. Arjun moved fast, eager, taking what the moment offered. Rima barely had time to steady her breath as he pulled her close, pressing into her with an urgency that was almost startling.
And yet, in the midst of the rush, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time — a deep, raw release. Her body arched against his, every nerve alive, every touch sending sparks through her.
She didn’t care it was quick or casual. After so long, this simple connection — this fierce, physical encounter — was exactly what she needed. She gave in fully, letting the pleasure wash over her like a wave she’d been waiting for.
When it was over, Arjun pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark and satisfied.
Rima, still flushed and trembling, felt a strange mix of satisfaction and unease. She had enjoyed it deeply, but something inside told her this wasn’t quite decent—yet the craving lingered.
Without another word, Arjun dressed quickly and left the office, disappearing as fast as he had come, leaving Rima alone with her racing thoughts and a body still humming from the touch.
Chapter 4
Days passed after that quick, intense encounter in the office. Rima kept walking her usual route through the basti road, hoping for some clarity, some sense of control over the confusing fire burning inside her.
And there he was again—Arjun—leaning casually against a wall, chewing on a betel leaf, his eyes barely flicking toward her. He didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word about what had happened between them. Like it was nothing. Like she was just another woman he fucked and forgot.
For Arjun, maybe that was true.
But for Rima, the cold weight of that casual cruelty settled deep inside. Her body remembered. Her skin ached with the ghost of his touch. Her mind wanted more—wanted him, even as a part of her recoiled in shame.
One evening, caught in the shadows of a narrow alley, she finally stopped him.
“Arjun,” she said, voice low, almost shaking.
He looked down at her with that familiar cocky smirk.
“We had sex,” he said bluntly. “You wanted it. What more you want?”
Rima blinked, stunned into silence. Her heart thundered, her cheeks burning.
Then, almost without thinking, her voice broke free, “I want you.”
Arjun just laughed—sharp, rough—and turned away without a word.
Days went by like that. Rima’s desire grew, overwhelming her senses. She found herself restless in meetings, distracted in conversations, craving the roughness of Arjun’s touch and the darkness in his eyes.
One afternoon, driven by a need she barely understood, Rima sought him out.
She found him sitting alone in the crumbling ruins of an old building near the slum, the sun casting long shadows across his face.
She didn’t hesitate.
“I want you,” she said plainly.
Arjun looked at her—an unreadable expression flickering across his face.
“No,” he said at first, shaking his head. “Not like that. If you want me, you need to submit.”
Rima frowned, confused and unsettled.
Arjun stared hard into Rima’s eyes, no mercy in his gaze. His voice was rough, like gravel scraping a wall.
“Listen, you want me? Then prove it. Open your fucking mouth and take my spit. Show me you’re mine.”
Rima’s heart hammered, her face burning with shame. The words were disgusting — vile, even. Her mind screamed no, but her body betrayed her, trembling and aching in ways she never knew.
After a long, shaky pause, she finally opened her mouth, eyes wide and scared. Arjun didn’t wait — he spat hard right into her mouth. The taste was bitter, salty, and raw. She gagged, but he shoved her face closer, pushing her to swallow it down.
“Don’t fucking move, or I’ll shove it down your throat,” he snarled, grabbing her jaw tight and spitting again and again until her mouth was full and dripping with his spit.
Rima’s stomach churned, her cheeks wet, but some dark fire flickered deep inside her — something messy, filthy, and horribly thrilling.
When he finally pulled away, he grinned like a beast, voice harsh.
“After work, come to my place. If you want more, you better be ready to be my bitch.”
Without another word, he stomped off, leaving her standing there, trembling with disgust and a desperate hunger she didn’t understand.
The bitter taste lingered on Rima’s tongue as she stood frozen, her breath shallow and uneven. Her mind raced, caught between shame and a burning ache that pulsed deeper than her embarrassment. She wiped her mouth clumsily, cheeks flushed hot, her body trembling with a strange, unwelcome desire.
For a moment, the narrow alley around her felt suffocating, the grime and shadow closing in like the weight of what just happened. But beneath that heaviness was a raw, pulsing hunger — a craving she barely understood, but couldn’t resist.
She pulled her sari tighter around her, trying to cover the wet patch on her blouse, and forced herself to walk back to the office, each step heavy with the knowledge of what Arjun had demanded — and what she had surrendered.
All through the day, her thoughts spun uncontrollably. Every glance, every breath, every tiny sound seemed to remind her of that moment: the rough grip on her chin, the spit she’d swallowed, the sharp command in his voice.
At the end of the day, with her heart pounding like a drum, Rima found herself standing outside the old building where Arjun had told her to come. The air was thick with dust and sweat, the faint hum of the city muffled behind cracked walls and broken windows.
The door was open. She slipped inside quietly.
Arjun wasn’t waiting for her. He was busy doing something, his back turned. When he noticed her, a slow, crooked smirk spread across his face. “Sit,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’ll finish this first.”
Rima’s heart thudded hard in her chest as she obeyed, sitting on the edge of a dusty wooden crate, eyes fixed on him—her body aching in anticipation and dread.
Arjun finished what he was doing with deliberate slowness, then turned to her with a cold, possessive gaze. His eyes, dark and unyielding, drank in every trembling inch of her form. The stale air of the room seemed to thicken with the weight of his presence, heavy and suffocating.
Without a word, he closed the small distance between them, rough hands grabbing the edges of her sari, tugging it down with fierce impatience. The fabric slipped away, revealing curves that were both vulnerable and irresistible. Rima’s breath hitched, caught between fear and a deep, aching desire that unfurled within her like a storm.
His touch was harsh, commanding, tracing lines of fire across her skin. He explored her body as if claiming it piece by piece—his hands not gentle but purposeful, leaving impressions that burned long after he moved on.
Rima felt herself surrendering, not just to the physical force pressing against her but to the dark hunger stirring deep inside. The roughness of his grasp, the heat of his breath, the raw urgency of his need — they stripped away all pretense, all doubts.
He pulled her close, his weight pressing her down onto the cold, hard floor. The world narrowed to the sound of ragged breaths and the harsh rhythm of their bodies colliding. Arjun’s movements were unrelenting, a wild, fierce dance of dominance and submission.
Every sharp touch, every coarse whisper, every demanding grip was a declaration — she was his, in this moment and perhaps beyond, caught in a tide she could neither resist nor escape.
Rima’s mind blurred, her senses consumed by the overwhelming sensation of being used, taken, and yet, somehow, deeply alive.
Rima’s breath hitched, then broke into a sharp gasp as Arjun’s rough hands gripped her tighter. The cold floor pressed beneath her, but all she could feel was the fire raging inside. His touch was hard, unyielding, and it sent shivers crawling over her skin.
A sudden, sharp pain mixed with pleasure, and before she could stop it, a loud scream tore from her lips — raw, desperate, and wild. It was not just pain or fear, but something deeper: a fierce, trembling joy that shook her whole body.
Arjun didn’t ease up. If anything, his grip grew firmer, his movements harsher. He used her like she belonged to him — like she was nothing but a tool for his need. And yet, in that brutal claiming, Rima found herself drowning in a strange, overwhelming satisfaction.
Her body arched, pushing into him, seeking more even as her mind fought the shame. The sounds she made — moans, cries, desperate gasps — filled the small room, raw and untamed.
She was lost to the moment, caught between pain and pleasure, fear and desire, surrender and wild need.
Arjun’s voice, low and crude, whispered in her ear, pushing her further into the darkness she both feared and craved.
Rima lay sprawled on the cold, dusty floor, her body still trembling from the rough storm that Arjun had unleashed within her. The ache deep inside her was mingled with a strange, raw satisfaction, like a wound that burned with a secret heat. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her skin slick with sweat and grime.
Arjun, already pulling on his worn, grimy shirt, moved with a careless ease — the kind of ease that comes from years of hard labor and rough living. His thick fingers worked at the buttons as his eyes briefly flicked toward Rima, taking her in without softness or hesitation.
He crouched down near her, voice low and steady, the harshness of it cutting through the quiet room. “Where you from, huh? What do you do for work, this office thing?”
Rima’s lips parted, voice still shaky but clear enough, “I work here… in accounts.”
He nodded once, as if filing away the information. “You got family? Kids?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “One son.”
Arjun’s gaze lingered for a moment before he stood up, slipping on his battered boots with deliberate slowness.
“You take care of yourself, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid.” His tone held no tenderness, only a hard, almost careless concern.
He reached for the door handle but paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk that held an edge of command. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Chapter 5
The days had blurred. Rima had stopped keeping track.
It was no longer strange for her to walk the same route each evening, her body answering some deep, silent call before her thoughts could catch up. Arjun had become a fixed point in her days—distant and unsentimental, yet undeniable.
By now, his room no longer startled her. The cracked floor tiles, the scent of sweat and cement, the sharp way he looked at her—none of it felt foreign. She knew how he liked things. How he demanded them. And she obeyed.
But this time, it was different.
At noon, the message came. A single line:
"Old mill building. Now."
It was sent without question, without tone—just a command. Rima’s hands trembled as she read it. She looked around the office. It was quiet. The sun outside was cruel. Her heart beat louder than the ceiling fan.
Fifteen minutes later, she was stepping through dust and broken glass, into the shadowed shell of the abandoned building. The air was stale. Her sandals made soft clicks on the concrete.
He was already there.
Not waiting. Just there. Like he always was. Sitting on a fallen wooden beam, smoking, eyes on the sunlight filtering through shattered windows. He didn’t look up.
Arjun’s eyes darkened as he leaned closer, the roughness in his voice cutting through the stale air of the abandoned building. “I never had the chance to do this outside before,” he said, voice low and raw. “Always stuck inside, behind walls, hiding. But today... today you’ll help me feel what it’s like out here. Exposed. No cover. No shame.”
Rima’s heart pounded, a flicker of hesitation flashing in her eyes. Her fingers gripped the edge of her sari tightly. “Arjun, maybe—maybe we shouldn’t—” she began, voice trembling, a faint resistance rising from within.
He cut her off with a hard look, his voice harsher now. “No one’s here, Rima. Just us. No one to see. No one to stop.” He reached out, his hands firm as they slid under her sari, pulling it slowly down, baring her skin to the harsh afternoon light. “You think too much. Just feel. You’ll like it.”
Rima’s breath hitched as the warm sun touched her bare skin. She swallowed the knot of fear tightening in her throat. His hands were rough, unyielding, roaming over her body with possessive hunger. The cool dust stirred beneath her feet, mixing with the heat rising inside her.
“See?” Arjun whispered, his lips brushing her neck. “Out here, no walls, no hiding. You’re mine, and you’ll enjoy it. More than you think.”
Her initial resistance melted, replaced by a raw, aching desire she hadn’t expected. The thrill of being so exposed, so claimed in this forgotten place, sent shivers down her spine. She gasped, her body trembling, surrendering beneath his fierce touch as the sunlight poured over them, sealing their secret in the harsh noon shadows.
Rima’s breath came faster, uneven in the open air. The roughness of Arjun’s hands against her bare skin sent jolts of shame and desire crashing through her. Her heart screamed caution, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch despite the wild flutter of fear in her chest.
Arjun’s grip tightened, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness as he pressed her back against the cracked wall of the abandoned building. “No hiding here,” he growled, voice thick with hunger. “Only you. Only me. And this moment.”
She tried to steady herself, to pull away, but his hands held firm, anchoring her in place. The sun beat down mercilessly, spotlighting every inch of her exposed skin. She was vulnerable, utterly bare—not just in body but in something deeper, raw and unguarded.
And yet, beneath the embarrassment and the chill of exposure, a strange heat blossomed, fierce and insistent. The thrill of being claimed so openly, so recklessly, stole her breath away.
Arjun’s lips found hers, harsh and demanding, tasting the salt of sweat and something unspoken between them. He pressed closer, rough hands sliding lower, exploring, marking.
Rima’s protests faded to broken whispers, drowned by the relentless rhythm of his need and the wild pulse of her own surrender. In that forgotten shell of a building, under the cruel noon sun, she was his — utterly, irrevocably, shamelessly.
The sun poured through the shattered windows, casting harsh light on Rima’s trembling form. Arjun’s rough hands moved with deliberate cruelty, pulling her blouse open, baring her breasts to the merciless daylight. Her skin prickled with cold and shame, but beneath it all stirred a fierce, unexpected fire.
He cupped her exposed flesh, kneading and teasing without mercy. Each touch was a shock, sharp and raw, yet it awakened a wild pleasure deep inside her—one she hadn’t known she could feel so boldly. Her breath hitched, and despite the burn of embarrassment, a slow moan escaped her lips.
Arjun’s eyes never left hers as he played, his rough fingers coaxing tremors of delight from her exposed body. The shame of being so openly displayed mingled with the heat blossoming between them, and Rima realized she was falling deeper into the dark hunger he stirred within her.
The abandoned building echoed with her quiet cries, the raw sun witnessing her surrender — her shame melting into pleasure under Arjun’s fierce, unyielding touch.
Arjun grabbed her head roughly, forcing her mouth onto him. He took what he wanted with a hard, impatient rhythm, his breath ragged and heavy. Rima’s senses blurred—shame, heat, and something raw stirring deep inside her.
When he finally pulled away, eyes dark and satisfied, he straightened his clothes without another word.
“I’ll be gone a few days,” he said gruffly.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, leaving Rima standing in the stale air, her body still humming from the rough taste of him, caught between desire and confusion.
The days without Arjun stretched long and restless. Rima found herself caught in the silence of her small home, the absence of his rough touch a dull ache beneath her skin. Her son’s laughter, the ticking of the clock, even the hum of the city outside—all felt distant, muted compared to the raw, urgent memories of him.
Then, late one night, the phone rang.
Her heart jumped. The screen flashed his name.
“Rima,” his voice was rough, slurred—drunk. “Come.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “Arjun, I’m at home. My son—”
“Don’t talk back. Now.” His voice cut through her hesitation like a whip.
Rima’s breath caught. The command, the tone—it stirred something inside her that refused to be ignored.
She slipped out quietly, hiding in the shadows as she left her house behind, the weight of the night heavy but the pull of him stronger.
The streets were nearly empty, the usual noise of the city reduced to distant echoes. Rima kept her sari wrapped tightly, footsteps quick but careful on the cracked pavement. Her heart hammered—not just from the rush, but from the guilt of leaving her son asleep, unaware, while she followed the summons of a man who treated her like something raw and hungry.
When she reached Arjun’s place, the small, grimy room smelled of sweat and stale liquor. The dim light flickered from a single bulb swinging overhead. Arjun sat slouched on a broken chair, eyes bloodshot but sharp as ever when they fixed on her.
Without a word, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her inside. The door creaked shut behind them, sealing her in a world of shadows and unspoken demands.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” he muttered, voice rough but satisfied.
Rima swallowed hard, a mixture of fear and desire tightening inside her. She knew there was no turning back now.
He was heavy with drink, his breath reeking of alcohol and something darker. His eyes burned with a fierce hunger, uncontrolled and raw. There was no softness tonight — only the violent edge of a man pushed too far.
He grabbed Rima with rough hands, slapping her hard across the face, the sharp sting splitting the quiet. She gasped, the shock folding quickly into a deep, trembling acceptance. She knew this was her place — beneath him, broken open by his force.
His fists rained down on her back, heavy and unyielding, leaving bruises that bloomed like dark flowers beneath her skin. Each strike tore through layers of resistance, shattering her pride until only the bare pulse of submission remained.
He pulled her roughly by the hair, yanking her breasts hard, fingers biting into flesh as he dragged her down again and again, each thrust harder, more savage than the last.
Inside, beneath the pain and degradation, Rima felt a strange calm. The violence was a language she could understand — a surrender deeper than words, a letting go of control that had long chained her spirit.
Her body trembled with a forbidden pleasure, the fierce beating awakening something fierce and helpless inside. Her cries, half agony, half ecstasy, filled the room — raw and true.
When Arjun finally collapsed, spent and silent, the heavy breath of the night enveloped them. Rima lay broken, bruised, but quietly consumed by the dark, aching surrender she had found only in his storm.
Rima lay there for a long moment, the ache in her body slowly mingling with the fire burning inside her — a fierce craving she couldn’t deny. When her breath finally steadied, she pushed herself up, each movement stiff but necessary.
She stumbled out, her skin slick with sweat and bruises hidden beneath her clothes. The night air was cool against her heated flesh, sharp as reality settled back in.
At home, she moved silently, careful not to wake her sleeping son. She stepped into the bathroom, the water running hot and steady as she sank beneath it. The spray washed away the grime of the night, but not the heaviness in her chest — that deep, raw hunger that only his rough hands could satisfy.
As the water slid over her bruised skin, her mind spiraled, replaying each harsh touch, each sharp word, each violent thrust. The shame twisted tightly with a dark pleasure, a secret she could barely admit — even to herself.
She wondered, trembling, what it was inside her that craved such degradation, such brutal control. What part of her body and soul had been waiting, aching, for this storm of pain and desire to break free?
The answer was unknown, but the hunger was real, and it pulsed with a fierce rhythm she could no longer resist.
The day faded into the soft, orange glow of evening as Rima made her way to Arjun’s room—her usual escape from the world that pressed heavily on her. She hesitated briefly at the door, memories of the night before swirling like smoke in her mind.
Arjun was there, sitting on the worn mattress, his eyes sharp but calm. He looked up as she entered, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I was drunk last night,” he said gruffly, “Maybe that’s why I was rough. You okay with that?”
Rima swallowed, her voice quiet but steady. “It’s okay,” she replied. She didn’t say more, but Arjun saw it in her eyes—how her body still ached, how her mind was tangled with desire.
He leaned forward, voice low and hard. “You want this from me, don’t you? The rough, the pain… the things you’re afraid to say out loud?”
Rima’s throat tightened. She wasn’t sure herself—never had been—but something deep inside whispered yes. “I… yes,” she admitted, trembling.
Arjun’s smirk grew wider, almost cruel now. “Good,” he said. “From now on, I’m going to use you like this. Show you a kind of pleasure you’ve never known.”
He stood, his eyes never leaving her. “Strip. Nude. Now.”
Rima hesitated, her cheeks burning, but the pull was too strong. Slowly, she obeyed, peeling off each layer until she stood bare before him, vulnerable and aching with anticipation.
The night was just beginning.
Arjun stepped close behind her, his hands rough and hungry as they slid over her bare skin. His fingers closed hard around her wide hips, gripping tightly, pulling her flush against him. The room was dim, but the cracked mirror on the wall caught their reflection—his dark eyes burning into hers, her trembling body exposed and vulnerable.
He moved his hands upward, squeezing the heavy weight of her breasts, fingers rough against the soft flesh. “Look at you,” he snarled low, voice thick with something cruel and possessive. “Big, black nipples, droopy tits like a woman twice your age, but acting like some filthy slut.”
His grip tightened, fingers pinching her nipples until she gasped, heat flaring in her cheeks. “Ugly body, ripe for use… and you like it, don’t you?”
Rima’s breath hitched, shame and a strange hunger twisting inside her. Her eyes locked on the mirror—on the woman Arjun described, exposed and raw. And beneath the sting of his words, a deep, burning need stirred, consuming her doubts.
She let herself feel it—all the shame, all the dark craving—as his hands roamed over her again, marking her as his. The cruel words, the rough touch, the absolute control—it was overwhelming, and yet she surrendered completely.
Arjun’s hands didn’t relent. He traced the curve of her waist, slid down her hips, then moved back up to cup her breasts again, thumbs pressing hard against her nipples, making them pebble beneath his rough touch. His voice was a low growl, thick with possession.
“You’re mine, all of you. Every inch ugly, every inch ready to take whatever I give.”
Rima’s body shuddered under his grip. The harsh words stung like fire, but inside her, a fierce heat bloomed—an ache that twisted shame and desire together until she no longer cared what he called her.
He pulled her hair lightly, forcing her to tilt her head back so she could meet her own eyes in the mirror—eyes filled with confusion, want, and submission all at once.
“Look at yourself,” he hissed. “You’re a dirty woman now, aren’t you? A slut begging to be used.”
She swallowed hard, breath catching. It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once. Her skin flushed deep red, but the heat inside her only grew fiercer.
“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m yours.”
Arjun’s grin was dark and cruel as he tightened his hold, pressing his body close to hers, marking her not just with his hands, but with every word, every touch, every look.
Rima closed her eyes, surrendering fully to the overwhelming storm of pain, pleasure, and shame—wrapped in the cold, rough hands of the man who claimed her.
Arjun’s breath was hot against her neck as his hands roamed, rough and demanding. He gripped her hips tightly, pulling her flush against the mirror, forcing her to feel the weight of his possession.
“Don’t you dare hide from what you are,” he snarled, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist. “Big tits, black nipples, old body — doesn’t matter. You want this, you need this.”
Rima’s heart hammered wildly. The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized — vulnerable, broken, and yet burning with a fierce craving she couldn’t deny.
Her voice was barely a whisper, “I want it... I need it.”
Arjun’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good. Because from now on, you’ll learn what it means to be mine — in every ugly, filthy way.”
He dragged her away from the mirror, pressing her onto the cold floor, the roughness of the concrete biting into her skin. Every harsh touch, every cruel word shattered the last of her resistance, folding her deeper into the dark hunger he demanded.
And Rima let herself fall — into shame, into desire, into a new world where degradation and pleasure blurred until they were one.
Arjun wasted no time. His hands gripped her body like a claim, rough and unyielding, dragging her down into the shadows of the room. Each touch was harsh, each word cutting deeper, breaking down the last walls of Rima’s hesitation.
She lay there, exposed and trembling, the weight of his possession pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. His lips found her skin, biting and demanding, his breath ragged and hungry. With every movement, every forceful claim, she felt herself slipping—falling away from the woman she once was, and stepping into something darker, something raw.
In that rough, unforgiving moment, a new journey began for Rima—one of complete surrender, of craving the shame and the pleasure that came hand in hand. The path was uncertain, the road ahead rough, but it was hers to walk now.
And she did.
Chapter 6
The night after her surrender, Rima moved slowly, her mind still tangled in the heat and roughness of what had passed. She reached for the soft cotton bra she always wore beneath her blouse, fingers hesitating just before slipping it over her head. But before she could, Arjun’s voice stopped her—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.
“Stop,” he said, his eyes dark with something both dangerous and certain. “Not yet. No bra. No panties.”
The words landed on her like a whip, crisp and absolute. She looked up at him, heart hammering in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. The idea of standing there, half-dressed in front of him and then going home like that—bare beneath the thin fabric of her sari—was terrifying and strange, but there was no room to argue.
“You will wear your blouse,” he ordered, his tone low, deliberate, “but nothing underneath. No bra. And no panties under your sari.”
Rima’s cheeks flamed a deep crimson. The blouse felt suddenly heavier in her hands, as if aware of the secret it would now carry. She swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to hold his gaze.
Arjun’s hand settled hard and possessive on her waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. The contact sent a jolt through her, both raw and electrifying.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmured, voice rough with command. “You belong to me now, in every way.”
Her fingers trembled as she slipped the blouse back on, the thin cotton sliding over bare skin, no bra to shield or support. The chill of the night pressed against the exposed parts of her, sending goosebumps across her arms and collarbones. She wrapped the sari around her hips, the fabric cool and soft but powerless to hide what lay beneath. No panties. Nothing to separate her from the world, except the thin veil of cloth.
Arjun’s eyes followed every movement, sharp and hungry. He stepped close behind her, hands roaming boldly over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.
“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice low and biting. “No bra, no panties. Your big nipples pressing through the thin blouse. A woman your age, standing bare and exposed like this… acting like a slut for me.”
His fingers dug hard into her sides, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through her. Shame flared, hot and fierce, but beneath it simmered a new, unfamiliar fire. She felt naked in a way she had never known—not just outside, but inside. Vulnerable, yes. But also alive.
“You will learn to crave this. To want it. To own it.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “You will be mine.”
In that quiet, charged moment, with moonlight spilling through the window and bathing her half-naked form in pale silver, Rima felt the true weight of submission settle over her—heavy, real, and undeniable.
Female Lead – Rima (38)
- Age: 38
- Occupation: Work in NGO
- Looks: Dusky, Figure like actress Kajol — big breasts and ass but not fat.
- Style: Wears modest clothes. Still decent till her submission.
- Personality (outward): Confident, respected, emotionally distant
- Personality (inner): Hiding loneliness, slowly aware of her submissive desires, ashamed of her body but secretly sensitive to being watched Still decent. Not sexually open at all yet.
- Age: 28
- Background: Grew up in the slums behind her colony
- Work: Car washer, sometimes delivery boy, odd jobs
- Looks: Dark, lean but muscular from labor; rough hands, cocky eyes
- Personality: Bold, street-smart, no manners, speaks in crude, always staring, always smirking
- Role: As Rima sexually got involved with her he slowly becomes Rima’s dominant; enjoys shaming her, turning her into what she hides from the world, body shaming, degrading etc.
Chapter 1
Rima had never liked walking through the basti road.
It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.
She had seen worse in life. Her NGO work had taken her to flood zones, red light lanes, hospital morgues.
But this narrow, hot street… with half-naked boys washing themselves outside, the smell of sweat, fish, and kerosene… it unsettled her.
Today, she had taken that path again. Her office was close by, and the auto had dropped her early. She adjusted her dupatta, carried her file in one hand, and walked fast. Eyes low, chin high.
She didn’t look at them. But she knew they were looking.
And then she saw him.
Sitting on a cement block, one foot up, chewing something. His shirt was open, his chest dark and damp. He looked younger — maybe late twenties — but his eyes weren’t boyish.
He didn’t whistle. He didn’t smile. He didn’t call out.
He just stared.
And Rima, without wanting to, felt that stare.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t respectful either.
It was… casual. Confident. Like he had all the time in the world to study her — from her face to her waist to her hips, all the way down to the edge of her sari.
She walked past him.
Her skin itched.
The next turn couldn’t come fast enough.
She didn’t look back. But the heat behind her neck refused to leave.
That evening, she scolded herself for even noticing.
She made her son’s dinner. She called her old mother. She folded clothes, washed her face, tied her hair up.
And yet, before going to bed, she passed by the mirror once more.
She didn’t stop.
But she moved a little slower.
The next day, Rima took the same route again.
She told herself it was because the other street was closed for repairs, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.
The basti road, with its cracked walls and puddles of old water, felt strange — and yet, oddly familiar.
As she walked, the smell of smoke from a small fire mixed with the faint scent of wet earth after the rain. Children played near a shop, and women sat chatting, their faces warm and bright under the afternoon sun.
Rima’s steps were measured, her eyes careful but calm. She wore her usual cotton sari, a deep maroon with thin golden borders. Her blouse was plain, neat, buttoned to the neck, covering her collarbones.
She noticed how the sunlight caught the curve of her neck, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the cloth. Not with pride, but with a quiet awareness.
She was a woman used to control — in her work, her home, her life.
Yet as she passed by a small group of boys sitting on a wall, she caught a glimpse of the same young man from before.
He was not staring now.
His eyes flickered toward her, then away, like he was unsure.
But she noticed.
And something deep inside her stirred.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Curiosity.
She quickened her pace.
At home, her son was waiting, his homework spread across the kitchen table.
Rima smiled, kissed his forehead, and asked about his day.
Still, her mind drifted back to the street — to the boy with the quiet stare, to the heat she felt without explanation.
Later, when the house was quiet and the fan hummed softly overhead, Rima sat by the window, gazing out.
The night was cool, the stars hidden behind the haze.
She thought about the path she took — the one that felt uncomfortable, and yet, somehow, right.
And she whispered to herself:
Rima again next day walked the narrow alleyway as the late afternoon sun dipped behind the grimy rooftops.
A small group of men lounged near a worn-out wall, their voices low but rough, carried easily in the humid air.
They spoke among themselves, their eyes briefly flicking toward her as she passed.
“Look at her,” one said, voice thick with amusement, “She’s got curves—big ones. Damn, she’s something.”
Another chuckled, “Yeah, that figure... like she owns the whole street.”
Their words were crude, careless, but distant — as if she was nothing more than a shape, a thing to admire from afar.
Then, the youngest of them, the boy who had been watching her quietly for days, sneered quietly, cutting through the chatter.
“She’s no prize. Ugly as hell. Just a dark cow trying to act fancy.”
His words fell sharp and cold in the warm air.
The others laughed, half agreeing, half teasing.
Rima heard everything, the laughter, the crude praise, the bitterness in his voice.
Her heart tightened, not with anger, but with a strange, unspoken weight.
She kept her gaze fixed ahead, her steps steady.
Inside, a quiet storm brewed.
She was seen, reduced, and yet untouched.
The moment lingered like a silent invitation — something she was not ready to understand.
Got it! So Rima recognizes him clearly as the boy from the slum road — she’s seen him often and knows who he is by face and attitude — but she doesn’t know his name yet. That makes their first real exchange at the office a moment where she learns his name, but the emotional tension is all hers, while he stays cool and indifferent.
Chapter 2
Rima sat in her office, still unsettled from the lingering thoughts of the slum road and the boy she had seen there so many times. She heard the door creak open and looked up.
There he was — the same lean young man, dark-skinned, rough, with those cocky, unreadable eyes. The boy who had called her a “dark cow” and stirred strange feelings she couldn’t place.
He didn’t smile or make any fuss. Just stood quietly, holding out a small parcel.
“Parcel for you,” he said bluntly.
Rima took the parcel, her fingers brushing his rough hand. Her pulse quickened despite herself.
“Thank you,” she said softly, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know his name.
“Arjun,” he said, almost as if reading her mind, before turning to leave.
Rima blinked. Arjun.
She opened a cupboard to find a glass, but there was none. Feeling suddenly thirsty, she looked up.
“Um, do you… have water here? I couldn’t find any,” she asked awkwardly.
Arjun paused, then smirked slightly. “Office no water? I deliver water too. Fresh water jar. Want one?”
Rima was surprised. “You do?”
He nodded, setting a large water jar beside the door. “Every day. You tell me.”
The air between them was thick — her heart racing, his indifferent.
Over the next days, Arjun came regularly — sometimes with parcels, sometimes with water. Their exchanges were brief, his words few, but each time Rima felt more drawn in by his quiet confidence.
She watched him closely, her feelings stirring quietly as the distance between them slowly began to shrink.
Chapter 3
Rima was alone in her small office, bending down to search for some files under her desk. As she moved, her sari slipped a little, exposing more of the curve of her chest beneath the blouse. The afternoon light caught the soft outline of her cleavage.
At that moment, the door opened and Arjun stepped in, carrying the usual parcel and the large water jar.
His eyes flicked down and caught the sight, but he didn’t say anything. No whistle, no smile. Just a quick, casual glance as if it was nothing.
He placed the heavy water jar on the floor, not bothering to put it on the filter as usual.
Rima’s throat suddenly felt dry. She wanted a drink, but the jar was too low. She hesitated, biting her lip, unsure how to ask him to put it higher.
Deciding to do it herself, she bent down to lift the jar.
It slipped.
Water spilled everywhere — soaking her blouse, running cold and wet over her skin.
Before she could react, strong hands grabbed her arms, steadying her.
She froze, the sudden contact sending a shock through her.
She smelled him then — the raw scent of sweat and earth, heavy and real.
Arjun’s grip was firm but matter-of-fact, like he was just doing his job, not noticing the tension in the air.
He didn’t say a word. He just held her steady while she regained her balance.
Rima’s breath hitched, her face burning with embarrassment and something else — a strange stirring deep inside.
But Arjun remained indifferent, eyes flicking back to the jar.
Arjun stepped out after setting the water jar, leaving Rima alone in the quiet office. The wet sari and blouse clung to her skin uncomfortably, cool droplets tracing along her arms and neck. She hesitated only a moment before beginning to peel off the sodden fabric, careful and slow. Her fingers trembled as she folded the wet sari, then unbuttoned the blouse, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage, still damp and sensitive.
A flush rose in her cheeks — she wasn’t used to feeling this exposed, even in an empty room. But the warmth that bloomed inside her was undeniable, stirring something she had long kept hidden.
Just as she began to rub at her arms, trying to warm herself, the office door opened again. Arjun was back. He stood framed by the doorway, eyes sharp, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He had forgotten something, but the way he looked at her was anything but casual.
Rima froze. Her heart thudded painfully loud in her chest. She was half undressed, vulnerable — a feeling both terrifying and strange.
Arjun closed the door behind him with a soft click. The room seemed smaller now, the air thick and heavy.
Arjun didn’t wait for an invitation. The moment he saw Rima alone, vulnerable, her sari half off and skin flushed, he just went for it. No fancy words, no slow build-up — just sharp, direct.
He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close with a hungry edge in his eyes. Rima’s breath hitched, surprised but something inside her melted instantly. It had been so long since a man had touched her like this — not with softness or romance, but with rough, sure intent.
Before she could think twice, he pressed his lips to hers, hard and demanding. His hands roamed boldly, undoing buttons, slipping beneath the fabric. Rima’s body responded before her mind caught up — her skin burning, heart racing.
There was no foreplay, no teasing. Arjun moved fast, eager, taking what the moment offered. Rima barely had time to steady her breath as he pulled her close, pressing into her with an urgency that was almost startling.
And yet, in the midst of the rush, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time — a deep, raw release. Her body arched against his, every nerve alive, every touch sending sparks through her.
She didn’t care it was quick or casual. After so long, this simple connection — this fierce, physical encounter — was exactly what she needed. She gave in fully, letting the pleasure wash over her like a wave she’d been waiting for.
When it was over, Arjun pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark and satisfied.
Rima, still flushed and trembling, felt a strange mix of satisfaction and unease. She had enjoyed it deeply, but something inside told her this wasn’t quite decent—yet the craving lingered.
Without another word, Arjun dressed quickly and left the office, disappearing as fast as he had come, leaving Rima alone with her racing thoughts and a body still humming from the touch.
Chapter 4
Days passed after that quick, intense encounter in the office. Rima kept walking her usual route through the basti road, hoping for some clarity, some sense of control over the confusing fire burning inside her.
And there he was again—Arjun—leaning casually against a wall, chewing on a betel leaf, his eyes barely flicking toward her. He didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word about what had happened between them. Like it was nothing. Like she was just another woman he fucked and forgot.
For Arjun, maybe that was true.
But for Rima, the cold weight of that casual cruelty settled deep inside. Her body remembered. Her skin ached with the ghost of his touch. Her mind wanted more—wanted him, even as a part of her recoiled in shame.
One evening, caught in the shadows of a narrow alley, she finally stopped him.
“Arjun,” she said, voice low, almost shaking.
He looked down at her with that familiar cocky smirk.
“We had sex,” he said bluntly. “You wanted it. What more you want?”
Rima blinked, stunned into silence. Her heart thundered, her cheeks burning.
Then, almost without thinking, her voice broke free, “I want you.”
Arjun just laughed—sharp, rough—and turned away without a word.
Days went by like that. Rima’s desire grew, overwhelming her senses. She found herself restless in meetings, distracted in conversations, craving the roughness of Arjun’s touch and the darkness in his eyes.
One afternoon, driven by a need she barely understood, Rima sought him out.
She found him sitting alone in the crumbling ruins of an old building near the slum, the sun casting long shadows across his face.
She didn’t hesitate.
“I want you,” she said plainly.
Arjun looked at her—an unreadable expression flickering across his face.
“No,” he said at first, shaking his head. “Not like that. If you want me, you need to submit.”
Rima frowned, confused and unsettled.
Arjun stared hard into Rima’s eyes, no mercy in his gaze. His voice was rough, like gravel scraping a wall.
“Listen, you want me? Then prove it. Open your fucking mouth and take my spit. Show me you’re mine.”
Rima’s heart hammered, her face burning with shame. The words were disgusting — vile, even. Her mind screamed no, but her body betrayed her, trembling and aching in ways she never knew.
After a long, shaky pause, she finally opened her mouth, eyes wide and scared. Arjun didn’t wait — he spat hard right into her mouth. The taste was bitter, salty, and raw. She gagged, but he shoved her face closer, pushing her to swallow it down.
“Don’t fucking move, or I’ll shove it down your throat,” he snarled, grabbing her jaw tight and spitting again and again until her mouth was full and dripping with his spit.
Rima’s stomach churned, her cheeks wet, but some dark fire flickered deep inside her — something messy, filthy, and horribly thrilling.
When he finally pulled away, he grinned like a beast, voice harsh.
“After work, come to my place. If you want more, you better be ready to be my bitch.”
Without another word, he stomped off, leaving her standing there, trembling with disgust and a desperate hunger she didn’t understand.
The bitter taste lingered on Rima’s tongue as she stood frozen, her breath shallow and uneven. Her mind raced, caught between shame and a burning ache that pulsed deeper than her embarrassment. She wiped her mouth clumsily, cheeks flushed hot, her body trembling with a strange, unwelcome desire.
For a moment, the narrow alley around her felt suffocating, the grime and shadow closing in like the weight of what just happened. But beneath that heaviness was a raw, pulsing hunger — a craving she barely understood, but couldn’t resist.
She pulled her sari tighter around her, trying to cover the wet patch on her blouse, and forced herself to walk back to the office, each step heavy with the knowledge of what Arjun had demanded — and what she had surrendered.
All through the day, her thoughts spun uncontrollably. Every glance, every breath, every tiny sound seemed to remind her of that moment: the rough grip on her chin, the spit she’d swallowed, the sharp command in his voice.
At the end of the day, with her heart pounding like a drum, Rima found herself standing outside the old building where Arjun had told her to come. The air was thick with dust and sweat, the faint hum of the city muffled behind cracked walls and broken windows.
The door was open. She slipped inside quietly.
Arjun wasn’t waiting for her. He was busy doing something, his back turned. When he noticed her, a slow, crooked smirk spread across his face. “Sit,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’ll finish this first.”
Rima’s heart thudded hard in her chest as she obeyed, sitting on the edge of a dusty wooden crate, eyes fixed on him—her body aching in anticipation and dread.
Arjun finished what he was doing with deliberate slowness, then turned to her with a cold, possessive gaze. His eyes, dark and unyielding, drank in every trembling inch of her form. The stale air of the room seemed to thicken with the weight of his presence, heavy and suffocating.
Without a word, he closed the small distance between them, rough hands grabbing the edges of her sari, tugging it down with fierce impatience. The fabric slipped away, revealing curves that were both vulnerable and irresistible. Rima’s breath hitched, caught between fear and a deep, aching desire that unfurled within her like a storm.
His touch was harsh, commanding, tracing lines of fire across her skin. He explored her body as if claiming it piece by piece—his hands not gentle but purposeful, leaving impressions that burned long after he moved on.
Rima felt herself surrendering, not just to the physical force pressing against her but to the dark hunger stirring deep inside. The roughness of his grasp, the heat of his breath, the raw urgency of his need — they stripped away all pretense, all doubts.
He pulled her close, his weight pressing her down onto the cold, hard floor. The world narrowed to the sound of ragged breaths and the harsh rhythm of their bodies colliding. Arjun’s movements were unrelenting, a wild, fierce dance of dominance and submission.
Every sharp touch, every coarse whisper, every demanding grip was a declaration — she was his, in this moment and perhaps beyond, caught in a tide she could neither resist nor escape.
Rima’s mind blurred, her senses consumed by the overwhelming sensation of being used, taken, and yet, somehow, deeply alive.
Rima’s breath hitched, then broke into a sharp gasp as Arjun’s rough hands gripped her tighter. The cold floor pressed beneath her, but all she could feel was the fire raging inside. His touch was hard, unyielding, and it sent shivers crawling over her skin.
A sudden, sharp pain mixed with pleasure, and before she could stop it, a loud scream tore from her lips — raw, desperate, and wild. It was not just pain or fear, but something deeper: a fierce, trembling joy that shook her whole body.
Arjun didn’t ease up. If anything, his grip grew firmer, his movements harsher. He used her like she belonged to him — like she was nothing but a tool for his need. And yet, in that brutal claiming, Rima found herself drowning in a strange, overwhelming satisfaction.
Her body arched, pushing into him, seeking more even as her mind fought the shame. The sounds she made — moans, cries, desperate gasps — filled the small room, raw and untamed.
She was lost to the moment, caught between pain and pleasure, fear and desire, surrender and wild need.
Arjun’s voice, low and crude, whispered in her ear, pushing her further into the darkness she both feared and craved.
Rima lay sprawled on the cold, dusty floor, her body still trembling from the rough storm that Arjun had unleashed within her. The ache deep inside her was mingled with a strange, raw satisfaction, like a wound that burned with a secret heat. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her skin slick with sweat and grime.
Arjun, already pulling on his worn, grimy shirt, moved with a careless ease — the kind of ease that comes from years of hard labor and rough living. His thick fingers worked at the buttons as his eyes briefly flicked toward Rima, taking her in without softness or hesitation.
He crouched down near her, voice low and steady, the harshness of it cutting through the quiet room. “Where you from, huh? What do you do for work, this office thing?”
Rima’s lips parted, voice still shaky but clear enough, “I work here… in accounts.”
He nodded once, as if filing away the information. “You got family? Kids?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “One son.”
Arjun’s gaze lingered for a moment before he stood up, slipping on his battered boots with deliberate slowness.
“You take care of yourself, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid.” His tone held no tenderness, only a hard, almost careless concern.
He reached for the door handle but paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk that held an edge of command. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Chapter 5
The days had blurred. Rima had stopped keeping track.
It was no longer strange for her to walk the same route each evening, her body answering some deep, silent call before her thoughts could catch up. Arjun had become a fixed point in her days—distant and unsentimental, yet undeniable.
By now, his room no longer startled her. The cracked floor tiles, the scent of sweat and cement, the sharp way he looked at her—none of it felt foreign. She knew how he liked things. How he demanded them. And she obeyed.
But this time, it was different.
At noon, the message came. A single line:
"Old mill building. Now."
It was sent without question, without tone—just a command. Rima’s hands trembled as she read it. She looked around the office. It was quiet. The sun outside was cruel. Her heart beat louder than the ceiling fan.
Fifteen minutes later, she was stepping through dust and broken glass, into the shadowed shell of the abandoned building. The air was stale. Her sandals made soft clicks on the concrete.
He was already there.
Not waiting. Just there. Like he always was. Sitting on a fallen wooden beam, smoking, eyes on the sunlight filtering through shattered windows. He didn’t look up.
Arjun’s eyes darkened as he leaned closer, the roughness in his voice cutting through the stale air of the abandoned building. “I never had the chance to do this outside before,” he said, voice low and raw. “Always stuck inside, behind walls, hiding. But today... today you’ll help me feel what it’s like out here. Exposed. No cover. No shame.”
Rima’s heart pounded, a flicker of hesitation flashing in her eyes. Her fingers gripped the edge of her sari tightly. “Arjun, maybe—maybe we shouldn’t—” she began, voice trembling, a faint resistance rising from within.
He cut her off with a hard look, his voice harsher now. “No one’s here, Rima. Just us. No one to see. No one to stop.” He reached out, his hands firm as they slid under her sari, pulling it slowly down, baring her skin to the harsh afternoon light. “You think too much. Just feel. You’ll like it.”
Rima’s breath hitched as the warm sun touched her bare skin. She swallowed the knot of fear tightening in her throat. His hands were rough, unyielding, roaming over her body with possessive hunger. The cool dust stirred beneath her feet, mixing with the heat rising inside her.
“See?” Arjun whispered, his lips brushing her neck. “Out here, no walls, no hiding. You’re mine, and you’ll enjoy it. More than you think.”
Her initial resistance melted, replaced by a raw, aching desire she hadn’t expected. The thrill of being so exposed, so claimed in this forgotten place, sent shivers down her spine. She gasped, her body trembling, surrendering beneath his fierce touch as the sunlight poured over them, sealing their secret in the harsh noon shadows.
Rima’s breath came faster, uneven in the open air. The roughness of Arjun’s hands against her bare skin sent jolts of shame and desire crashing through her. Her heart screamed caution, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch despite the wild flutter of fear in her chest.
Arjun’s grip tightened, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness as he pressed her back against the cracked wall of the abandoned building. “No hiding here,” he growled, voice thick with hunger. “Only you. Only me. And this moment.”
She tried to steady herself, to pull away, but his hands held firm, anchoring her in place. The sun beat down mercilessly, spotlighting every inch of her exposed skin. She was vulnerable, utterly bare—not just in body but in something deeper, raw and unguarded.
And yet, beneath the embarrassment and the chill of exposure, a strange heat blossomed, fierce and insistent. The thrill of being claimed so openly, so recklessly, stole her breath away.
Arjun’s lips found hers, harsh and demanding, tasting the salt of sweat and something unspoken between them. He pressed closer, rough hands sliding lower, exploring, marking.
Rima’s protests faded to broken whispers, drowned by the relentless rhythm of his need and the wild pulse of her own surrender. In that forgotten shell of a building, under the cruel noon sun, she was his — utterly, irrevocably, shamelessly.
The sun poured through the shattered windows, casting harsh light on Rima’s trembling form. Arjun’s rough hands moved with deliberate cruelty, pulling her blouse open, baring her breasts to the merciless daylight. Her skin prickled with cold and shame, but beneath it all stirred a fierce, unexpected fire.
He cupped her exposed flesh, kneading and teasing without mercy. Each touch was a shock, sharp and raw, yet it awakened a wild pleasure deep inside her—one she hadn’t known she could feel so boldly. Her breath hitched, and despite the burn of embarrassment, a slow moan escaped her lips.
Arjun’s eyes never left hers as he played, his rough fingers coaxing tremors of delight from her exposed body. The shame of being so openly displayed mingled with the heat blossoming between them, and Rima realized she was falling deeper into the dark hunger he stirred within her.
The abandoned building echoed with her quiet cries, the raw sun witnessing her surrender — her shame melting into pleasure under Arjun’s fierce, unyielding touch.
Arjun grabbed her head roughly, forcing her mouth onto him. He took what he wanted with a hard, impatient rhythm, his breath ragged and heavy. Rima’s senses blurred—shame, heat, and something raw stirring deep inside her.
When he finally pulled away, eyes dark and satisfied, he straightened his clothes without another word.
“I’ll be gone a few days,” he said gruffly.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, leaving Rima standing in the stale air, her body still humming from the rough taste of him, caught between desire and confusion.
The days without Arjun stretched long and restless. Rima found herself caught in the silence of her small home, the absence of his rough touch a dull ache beneath her skin. Her son’s laughter, the ticking of the clock, even the hum of the city outside—all felt distant, muted compared to the raw, urgent memories of him.
Then, late one night, the phone rang.
Her heart jumped. The screen flashed his name.
“Rima,” his voice was rough, slurred—drunk. “Come.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “Arjun, I’m at home. My son—”
“Don’t talk back. Now.” His voice cut through her hesitation like a whip.
Rima’s breath caught. The command, the tone—it stirred something inside her that refused to be ignored.
She slipped out quietly, hiding in the shadows as she left her house behind, the weight of the night heavy but the pull of him stronger.
The streets were nearly empty, the usual noise of the city reduced to distant echoes. Rima kept her sari wrapped tightly, footsteps quick but careful on the cracked pavement. Her heart hammered—not just from the rush, but from the guilt of leaving her son asleep, unaware, while she followed the summons of a man who treated her like something raw and hungry.
When she reached Arjun’s place, the small, grimy room smelled of sweat and stale liquor. The dim light flickered from a single bulb swinging overhead. Arjun sat slouched on a broken chair, eyes bloodshot but sharp as ever when they fixed on her.
Without a word, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her inside. The door creaked shut behind them, sealing her in a world of shadows and unspoken demands.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” he muttered, voice rough but satisfied.
Rima swallowed hard, a mixture of fear and desire tightening inside her. She knew there was no turning back now.
He was heavy with drink, his breath reeking of alcohol and something darker. His eyes burned with a fierce hunger, uncontrolled and raw. There was no softness tonight — only the violent edge of a man pushed too far.
He grabbed Rima with rough hands, slapping her hard across the face, the sharp sting splitting the quiet. She gasped, the shock folding quickly into a deep, trembling acceptance. She knew this was her place — beneath him, broken open by his force.
His fists rained down on her back, heavy and unyielding, leaving bruises that bloomed like dark flowers beneath her skin. Each strike tore through layers of resistance, shattering her pride until only the bare pulse of submission remained.
He pulled her roughly by the hair, yanking her breasts hard, fingers biting into flesh as he dragged her down again and again, each thrust harder, more savage than the last.
Inside, beneath the pain and degradation, Rima felt a strange calm. The violence was a language she could understand — a surrender deeper than words, a letting go of control that had long chained her spirit.
Her body trembled with a forbidden pleasure, the fierce beating awakening something fierce and helpless inside. Her cries, half agony, half ecstasy, filled the room — raw and true.
When Arjun finally collapsed, spent and silent, the heavy breath of the night enveloped them. Rima lay broken, bruised, but quietly consumed by the dark, aching surrender she had found only in his storm.
Rima lay there for a long moment, the ache in her body slowly mingling with the fire burning inside her — a fierce craving she couldn’t deny. When her breath finally steadied, she pushed herself up, each movement stiff but necessary.
She stumbled out, her skin slick with sweat and bruises hidden beneath her clothes. The night air was cool against her heated flesh, sharp as reality settled back in.
At home, she moved silently, careful not to wake her sleeping son. She stepped into the bathroom, the water running hot and steady as she sank beneath it. The spray washed away the grime of the night, but not the heaviness in her chest — that deep, raw hunger that only his rough hands could satisfy.
As the water slid over her bruised skin, her mind spiraled, replaying each harsh touch, each sharp word, each violent thrust. The shame twisted tightly with a dark pleasure, a secret she could barely admit — even to herself.
She wondered, trembling, what it was inside her that craved such degradation, such brutal control. What part of her body and soul had been waiting, aching, for this storm of pain and desire to break free?
The answer was unknown, but the hunger was real, and it pulsed with a fierce rhythm she could no longer resist.
The day faded into the soft, orange glow of evening as Rima made her way to Arjun’s room—her usual escape from the world that pressed heavily on her. She hesitated briefly at the door, memories of the night before swirling like smoke in her mind.
Arjun was there, sitting on the worn mattress, his eyes sharp but calm. He looked up as she entered, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I was drunk last night,” he said gruffly, “Maybe that’s why I was rough. You okay with that?”
Rima swallowed, her voice quiet but steady. “It’s okay,” she replied. She didn’t say more, but Arjun saw it in her eyes—how her body still ached, how her mind was tangled with desire.
He leaned forward, voice low and hard. “You want this from me, don’t you? The rough, the pain… the things you’re afraid to say out loud?”
Rima’s throat tightened. She wasn’t sure herself—never had been—but something deep inside whispered yes. “I… yes,” she admitted, trembling.
Arjun’s smirk grew wider, almost cruel now. “Good,” he said. “From now on, I’m going to use you like this. Show you a kind of pleasure you’ve never known.”
He stood, his eyes never leaving her. “Strip. Nude. Now.”
Rima hesitated, her cheeks burning, but the pull was too strong. Slowly, she obeyed, peeling off each layer until she stood bare before him, vulnerable and aching with anticipation.
The night was just beginning.
Arjun stepped close behind her, his hands rough and hungry as they slid over her bare skin. His fingers closed hard around her wide hips, gripping tightly, pulling her flush against him. The room was dim, but the cracked mirror on the wall caught their reflection—his dark eyes burning into hers, her trembling body exposed and vulnerable.
He moved his hands upward, squeezing the heavy weight of her breasts, fingers rough against the soft flesh. “Look at you,” he snarled low, voice thick with something cruel and possessive. “Big, black nipples, droopy tits like a woman twice your age, but acting like some filthy slut.”
His grip tightened, fingers pinching her nipples until she gasped, heat flaring in her cheeks. “Ugly body, ripe for use… and you like it, don’t you?”
Rima’s breath hitched, shame and a strange hunger twisting inside her. Her eyes locked on the mirror—on the woman Arjun described, exposed and raw. And beneath the sting of his words, a deep, burning need stirred, consuming her doubts.
She let herself feel it—all the shame, all the dark craving—as his hands roamed over her again, marking her as his. The cruel words, the rough touch, the absolute control—it was overwhelming, and yet she surrendered completely.
Arjun’s hands didn’t relent. He traced the curve of her waist, slid down her hips, then moved back up to cup her breasts again, thumbs pressing hard against her nipples, making them pebble beneath his rough touch. His voice was a low growl, thick with possession.
“You’re mine, all of you. Every inch ugly, every inch ready to take whatever I give.”
Rima’s body shuddered under his grip. The harsh words stung like fire, but inside her, a fierce heat bloomed—an ache that twisted shame and desire together until she no longer cared what he called her.
He pulled her hair lightly, forcing her to tilt her head back so she could meet her own eyes in the mirror—eyes filled with confusion, want, and submission all at once.
“Look at yourself,” he hissed. “You’re a dirty woman now, aren’t you? A slut begging to be used.”
She swallowed hard, breath catching. It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once. Her skin flushed deep red, but the heat inside her only grew fiercer.
“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m yours.”
Arjun’s grin was dark and cruel as he tightened his hold, pressing his body close to hers, marking her not just with his hands, but with every word, every touch, every look.
Rima closed her eyes, surrendering fully to the overwhelming storm of pain, pleasure, and shame—wrapped in the cold, rough hands of the man who claimed her.
Arjun’s breath was hot against her neck as his hands roamed, rough and demanding. He gripped her hips tightly, pulling her flush against the mirror, forcing her to feel the weight of his possession.
“Don’t you dare hide from what you are,” he snarled, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist. “Big tits, black nipples, old body — doesn’t matter. You want this, you need this.”
Rima’s heart hammered wildly. The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized — vulnerable, broken, and yet burning with a fierce craving she couldn’t deny.
Her voice was barely a whisper, “I want it... I need it.”
Arjun’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good. Because from now on, you’ll learn what it means to be mine — in every ugly, filthy way.”
He dragged her away from the mirror, pressing her onto the cold floor, the roughness of the concrete biting into her skin. Every harsh touch, every cruel word shattered the last of her resistance, folding her deeper into the dark hunger he demanded.
And Rima let herself fall — into shame, into desire, into a new world where degradation and pleasure blurred until they were one.
Arjun wasted no time. His hands gripped her body like a claim, rough and unyielding, dragging her down into the shadows of the room. Each touch was harsh, each word cutting deeper, breaking down the last walls of Rima’s hesitation.
She lay there, exposed and trembling, the weight of his possession pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. His lips found her skin, biting and demanding, his breath ragged and hungry. With every movement, every forceful claim, she felt herself slipping—falling away from the woman she once was, and stepping into something darker, something raw.
In that rough, unforgiving moment, a new journey began for Rima—one of complete surrender, of craving the shame and the pleasure that came hand in hand. The path was uncertain, the road ahead rough, but it was hers to walk now.
And she did.
Chapter 6
The night after her surrender, Rima moved slowly, her mind still tangled in the heat and roughness of what had passed. She reached for the soft cotton bra she always wore beneath her blouse, fingers hesitating just before slipping it over her head. But before she could, Arjun’s voice stopped her—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.
“Stop,” he said, his eyes dark with something both dangerous and certain. “Not yet. No bra. No panties.”
The words landed on her like a whip, crisp and absolute. She looked up at him, heart hammering in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. The idea of standing there, half-dressed in front of him and then going home like that—bare beneath the thin fabric of her sari—was terrifying and strange, but there was no room to argue.
“You will wear your blouse,” he ordered, his tone low, deliberate, “but nothing underneath. No bra. And no panties under your sari.”
Rima’s cheeks flamed a deep crimson. The blouse felt suddenly heavier in her hands, as if aware of the secret it would now carry. She swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to hold his gaze.
Arjun’s hand settled hard and possessive on her waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. The contact sent a jolt through her, both raw and electrifying.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmured, voice rough with command. “You belong to me now, in every way.”
Her fingers trembled as she slipped the blouse back on, the thin cotton sliding over bare skin, no bra to shield or support. The chill of the night pressed against the exposed parts of her, sending goosebumps across her arms and collarbones. She wrapped the sari around her hips, the fabric cool and soft but powerless to hide what lay beneath. No panties. Nothing to separate her from the world, except the thin veil of cloth.
Arjun’s eyes followed every movement, sharp and hungry. He stepped close behind her, hands roaming boldly over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.
“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice low and biting. “No bra, no panties. Your big nipples pressing through the thin blouse. A woman your age, standing bare and exposed like this… acting like a slut for me.”
His fingers dug hard into her sides, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through her. Shame flared, hot and fierce, but beneath it simmered a new, unfamiliar fire. She felt naked in a way she had never known—not just outside, but inside. Vulnerable, yes. But also alive.
“You will learn to crave this. To want it. To own it.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “You will be mine.”
In that quiet, charged moment, with moonlight spilling through the window and bathing her half-naked form in pale silver, Rima felt the true weight of submission settle over her—heavy, real, and undeniable.
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