That first fuck with Aakash had been a cataclysm—a collision of agony and ecstasy that claimed my virginity in a storm of raw, untamed bliss. The sharp burn as he stretched my tight pussy, my nails carving crescents into his back, gave way to throbbing waves of pleasure that left me screaming, my core clenching around him, forever etching that moment as the pinnacle of my sexual awakening. “You’re mine, Sana,” he’d groaned, his cock buried deep, his thrusts relentless. Nothing since had rivaled that primal intensity, the way pain melted into rapture, leaving me soaked, trembling, and addicted to the fire he’d ignited.
Then came Rakesh, a bolt of lightning in my quiet world. It was a humid afternoon, lounging with friends by the college basketball court, when I saw him—tall, sculpted, a vision of raw masculinity in nothing but shorts and a tank top. Sweat glistened on his broad shoulders, his abs carved like marble, thighs powerful and veined, his shorts hinting at the thick cock beneath. He moved with predatory grace, leaping for a shot, muscles flexing, and I felt a rush of heat, my panties growing damp, my nipples stiffening against my shirt as lust slammed into me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, my mind spinning filthy fantasies—his strong hands pinning my wrists, his cock stretching my pussy until I screamed. My friends teased my flushed cheeks, but I was lost, the spark of desire reigniting something wild in me.
He noticed me too, you know. Later, he’d confess how my dark eyes, full lips, and the way my skirt hugged my hips, my shirt clinging to my tits, had caught him mid-game, his cock twitching in his shorts. He thought I was a virgin, radiating innocence and allure, and I let him believe it, the lie fueling the electric tension between us. After the game, he approached, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat trailing down his chiseled chest. “You’re Sana, right? Theater star?” he said, his voice a deep, velvet rumble, a grin spreading across his face. I nodded, heart pounding. “And you’re Rakesh, the court king.” He laughed, a rich sound that sent shivers through my pussy, his eyes raking over my curves. “Saw you watching. Like what you saw?” I bit my lip, bold and brazen. “Maybe. You’re hard to miss.” His gaze darkened, promising a fuck I’d never forget.
Our connection ignited like a wildfire. We’d find each other in college corridors, Rakesh waiting after my classes, leaning against walls with that cocky grin that made my pussy throb. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he’d say, his hand brushing mine, sending jolts through my body, my core aching at his nearness. Coffee dates turned into deep talks—his engineering dreams, basketball as his escape, his rebellion against family pressure. I shared my theater passion, my hunger to command the stage, keeping my past with Aakash locked away, letting him believe I was untouched, pure. His assumption made him gentler at first, his touches reverent, but the hunger in his eyes screamed he wanted to fuck my brains out. “You’re too perfect, Sana,” he’d murmur, his fingers grazing my arm, making my pussy clench with anticipation.