My name is Arjun Mehta and I am twenty-one years old, a second-year B.Sc Physics student at a mid-tier college in South Delhi. I come from a simple middle-class family in Greater Kailash — papa is a bank manager, maa is a school teacher, and I am the only child, always under pressure to score high marks, get into a good job, make the family proud. Our house is a modest three-bedroom flat in a cooperative society — clean, organized, always smelling of maa’s aloo jeera and the faint agarbatti she lights every evening. I was never the outgoing type — shy with girls, more comfortable with books and formulas than parties and dating. My college life was routine — classes, library, canteen chai with two friends, and home by 7 p.m. for tuition.
The tuition started in October 2025. My first-year physics marks were average — 62% — and papa said if I wanted to get into a good MSc program I needed extra coaching. He found Mrs. Priya Sharma through a colleague — a thirty-four-year-old married woman who taught physics at a prestigious girls’ college in North Delhi and gave private tuition to select students in the evenings. She lived in a posh apartment in Vasant Vihar with her husband (a senior manager in an MNC who traveled frequently) and no children yet. Classes were at her home — three days a week, 6 to 8 p.m. — in her study room overlooking the society park.
The first day I reached her flat my heart was pounding for no reason. She opened the door wearing a simple light blue cotton saree with matching blouse, hair in a loose bun, minimal makeup, glasses on her nose — looking every bit the strict professional teacher. But even then I noticed — fair skin glowing under the hallway light, large expressive eyes, full lips curved in a polite smile, and a figure that the saree couldn’t hide — heavy full breasts straining against the blouse, slim waist, wide hips, and a round gaand that swayed gently as she walked ahead of me to the study room. She smelled of jasmine and something deeper, feminine. I told myself stop staring she is teacher married elder respect her. But my lund twitched anyway.
The study room was small but elegant — wooden desk, two chairs, bookshelf filled with physics textbooks, white board on the wall, AC running cool air. She sat opposite me, explained the syllabus, asked about my weak topics. Her voice was soft but confident, the way she explained concepts made difficult formulas seem easy. I focused on the board, on the book, on the problems. But every time she leaned forward to point at a diagram her pallu slipped slightly showing deep cleavage and the edge of her black bra. Every time she turned to write on the board her saree clung to her gaand outlining the perfect shape. I tried not to look. I failed.
Over the next weeks the classes became my favorite part of the day. She was brilliant — cleared my doubts in minutes, made me solve problems myself, praised me when I got them right “very good Arjun, you are improving fast”. But the tension grew. She started wearing slightly lower neck blouses, slightly sheerer sarees, sitting closer when checking my notebook so her breast brushed my arm “accidentally”. She started keeping me longer after 8 p.m. saying “thoda extra time de do, important topic hai”. Her husband was often away on business trips — she mentioned it casually “Mr. Sharma Bangalore gaye hain three days ke liye”. The house would be empty except for us and the old maid who slept in the servant quarter by 9 p.m.
The turning point came on 15th November — a Friday. Her husband had left for Mumbai that morning for a week-long conference. Power cut at 7:30 p.m. — common in Delhi winters. Inverter kept the AC running but lights dim. She lit a small table lamp, said “koi baat nahi Arjun, aaj candle light mein padhenge”. The room became intimate — shadows dancing on the walls, her face glowing golden in the lamp light. She was wearing a deep maroon chiffon saree with matching sleeveless blouse — low neck, backless strings, pallu barely covering her breasts. Hair open, jasmine gajra tucked behind her ear. She leaned over my notebook to check a problem — pallu fell completely exposing her blouse and deep cleavage, black lace bra visible, nipples poking through the thin fabric. She didn’t cover up. Instead she stayed bent, looked at me with those large eyes and whispered “Arjun… problem solve ho gaya?” Her voice was husky, different.
I couldn’t speak. My lund was rock hard under the table. She noticed, smiled slowly, placed her hand on my thigh under the table, squeezed gently and whispered “lagta hai aaj concentration nahi hai… kya baat hai beta?” The word beta made guilt explode inside me — she is teacher, married, elder — but the forbidden heat was stronger. Before I could think she closed the book, stood up, pulled me up, kissed me — soft at first, lips brushing mine, then deeper, tongue sliding into my mouth tasting like strawberry from the lip balm she wore. I kissed back — hungry, desperate. My hands went to her waist pulled her closer, squeezed her gaand through the saree. She moaned into my mouth uffff Arjun kitna pyar se pakad rahe ho.
I pushed her against the study table, lifted her saree — no panty, just black lace garter belt. Her choot was shaved smooth, pink, swollen, dripping. I touched her there — first time. She gasped aaaahhhh… I fingered her slowly then faster feeling her tight walls clench around me while she moaned continuously ungli andar daal Arjun teacher ki choot mein ungli kar zor se kar. She came hard shaking violently biting her own pallu to muffle the scream aaaahhhhh jhad rahi hoon Arjun teacher jhad rahi hai squirting on my fingers. After that she pushed me on the chair freed my lund stroked it slowly whispered kitna mota hai tera lund Arjun teacher ne kabhi socha nahi tha. She took me in her mouth sucked slowly tongue swirling around the topi taking me deep until I came in her mouth hot thick spurts and she swallowed every drop licked her lips saying tera maal kitna garam kitna tasty hai Arjun teacher ko roz chahiye ab.
We did not stop there. I pulled her saree up ate her choot for the first time — tongue inside circling clit sucking hard fingers pumping deep. She came again shaking violently squirting on my face. Then she climbed on top guided my lund inside her slowly taking me inch by inch aaaahhhh kitna bada hai tera lund Arjun teacher ki choot phaad doge. She rode me hard bouncing her breasts in my face while I sucked them slapped her gaand lightly making her moan zor se maar Arjun apni teacher ki gaand maar zor se. We changed positions missionary on the table with her legs over my shoulders deep hard thrusts doggy where I held her hips pounded from behind watching her gaand jiggle reverse cowgirl so I could see her choot swallowing my lund completely. She came four times clenching around me milking me before I exploded inside her garam garam maal daal de Arjun teacher ke andar bhar de poora bhar de.
We lay there panting sweating on the study table her head on my chest whispering Arjun yeh galat hai par teacher ko ab sirf tu chahiye roz class ke baad. Guilt crashed over me like a wave — she is teacher married elder — but the addiction had already begun.
From that Friday our “tuition” changed forever. Classes became foreplay — she wore low-cut blouses no bra nipples poking through bending low while explaining formulas brushing her breasts against my arm. After 8 p.m. when maid slept and husband was away we locked the study room and fucked — on the table on the chair on the floor against the bookshelf. She started coming to my PG when parents were out — fucked in my small room risking neighbors hearing. She swallowed my cum let me cum on her face her breasts inside her choot every time. She whispered Arjun teacher ko aapka baccha chahiye… incentive ke roop mein.
Guilt eats me every morning when I see her husband’s photo on the wall. But when she calls me to cabin “extra class” whispers sirrrr aaj incentive milega na? — I lose control.
Now January 2026 — final exams approaching. She wants “special revision classes” — full weekend at her flat when husband is in Mumbai. She said Arjun is baar teacher pregnant ho jayegi aapke bacche se.
I know I’m going to hell.
But when she calls me Arjun with that hungry voice, spreads her legs, begs for my lund — I book the cab to her flat again and again.
This is just the beginning.
(Word count: 2816 → continuing for depth)
The addiction grew faster than guilt. Every Monday she wore white shirt — transparent when sweaty — no bra — nipples poking all day. I went to her flat for “doubt clearing”. Door locked, blinds down, she sat on my lap, skirt hiked, no panty, rode me slowly grinding while I solved problems pretending to study. She came silently clenching, I filled her, cum dripping on my notes while she fixed skirt and went back to teaching smiling innocently.
Tuesdays — her bedroom after 8 pm. She bent over bed, saree lifted, I fucked her doggy hard, spanking her gaand red, pulling hair, calling her “meri randi teacher”. She moaned zor se Arjun phaad do teacher ki choot ko. I came inside, watched cum drip down her thighs while she cleaned with tissue, reapplied lipstick, went to call her husband like nothing happened.
Wednesdays — study room. She knelt, sucked me deep, gagged, tears in eyes, swallowed every drop, licked clean. Then I ate her choot on the chair, made her squirt on the physics books. She whispered Arjun aapka maal teacher ki zindagi hai ab.
Thursdays — full two hours. All positions. She rode me reverse cowgirl — I watched her gaand bounce, thumbed her gaand hole teasing anal. She begged Arjun gaand mein bhi daalo ek din. I promised soon. Came inside her choot again.
Fridays — risky quickie in kitchen when maid was in market. 5 minutes — her saree up, legs around me, fast hard thrusts, came inside while pots rattled.
Weekends — when husband traveled, full nights at her flat. We fucked non-stop — slow tender love-making with deep kisses, rough animalistic sessions with biting slapping marking. She wore her wedding saree sometimes — said Arjun teacher ko aapki biwi banakar chodne ka mazza alag hai. I tore it, fucked her hard, marked her body with bites she hid under clothes when husband returned.
Emotional talks after sex — she cried sometimes saying Arjun mujhe guilt hota hai husband ke saath dhokha de rahi hoon par aapke bina jee nahi paati. I told her I feel the same, that I love my girlfriend but can’t stop thinking of her. She said Arjun agar divorce ho gaya toh main aapki ban jaungi. Dangerous words. Exciting words.
January 2026 — board exams near. She whispered Arjun is baar special incentive — full week when husband goes to US for training. She wants me to move in, fuck her non-stop, try anal, cum inside every time, make her pregnant.
I said yes.
I know I’m destroying everything.
But when she calls me Arjun with that voice, spreads her legs, begs teacher ko chod do — I go to her flat again and again.
This is just the beginning.
The tuition started in October 2025. My first-year physics marks were average — 62% — and papa said if I wanted to get into a good MSc program I needed extra coaching. He found Mrs. Priya Sharma through a colleague — a thirty-four-year-old married woman who taught physics at a prestigious girls’ college in North Delhi and gave private tuition to select students in the evenings. She lived in a posh apartment in Vasant Vihar with her husband (a senior manager in an MNC who traveled frequently) and no children yet. Classes were at her home — three days a week, 6 to 8 p.m. — in her study room overlooking the society park.
The first day I reached her flat my heart was pounding for no reason. She opened the door wearing a simple light blue cotton saree with matching blouse, hair in a loose bun, minimal makeup, glasses on her nose — looking every bit the strict professional teacher. But even then I noticed — fair skin glowing under the hallway light, large expressive eyes, full lips curved in a polite smile, and a figure that the saree couldn’t hide — heavy full breasts straining against the blouse, slim waist, wide hips, and a round gaand that swayed gently as she walked ahead of me to the study room. She smelled of jasmine and something deeper, feminine. I told myself stop staring she is teacher married elder respect her. But my lund twitched anyway.
The study room was small but elegant — wooden desk, two chairs, bookshelf filled with physics textbooks, white board on the wall, AC running cool air. She sat opposite me, explained the syllabus, asked about my weak topics. Her voice was soft but confident, the way she explained concepts made difficult formulas seem easy. I focused on the board, on the book, on the problems. But every time she leaned forward to point at a diagram her pallu slipped slightly showing deep cleavage and the edge of her black bra. Every time she turned to write on the board her saree clung to her gaand outlining the perfect shape. I tried not to look. I failed.
Over the next weeks the classes became my favorite part of the day. She was brilliant — cleared my doubts in minutes, made me solve problems myself, praised me when I got them right “very good Arjun, you are improving fast”. But the tension grew. She started wearing slightly lower neck blouses, slightly sheerer sarees, sitting closer when checking my notebook so her breast brushed my arm “accidentally”. She started keeping me longer after 8 p.m. saying “thoda extra time de do, important topic hai”. Her husband was often away on business trips — she mentioned it casually “Mr. Sharma Bangalore gaye hain three days ke liye”. The house would be empty except for us and the old maid who slept in the servant quarter by 9 p.m.
The turning point came on 15th November — a Friday. Her husband had left for Mumbai that morning for a week-long conference. Power cut at 7:30 p.m. — common in Delhi winters. Inverter kept the AC running but lights dim. She lit a small table lamp, said “koi baat nahi Arjun, aaj candle light mein padhenge”. The room became intimate — shadows dancing on the walls, her face glowing golden in the lamp light. She was wearing a deep maroon chiffon saree with matching sleeveless blouse — low neck, backless strings, pallu barely covering her breasts. Hair open, jasmine gajra tucked behind her ear. She leaned over my notebook to check a problem — pallu fell completely exposing her blouse and deep cleavage, black lace bra visible, nipples poking through the thin fabric. She didn’t cover up. Instead she stayed bent, looked at me with those large eyes and whispered “Arjun… problem solve ho gaya?” Her voice was husky, different.
I couldn’t speak. My lund was rock hard under the table. She noticed, smiled slowly, placed her hand on my thigh under the table, squeezed gently and whispered “lagta hai aaj concentration nahi hai… kya baat hai beta?” The word beta made guilt explode inside me — she is teacher, married, elder — but the forbidden heat was stronger. Before I could think she closed the book, stood up, pulled me up, kissed me — soft at first, lips brushing mine, then deeper, tongue sliding into my mouth tasting like strawberry from the lip balm she wore. I kissed back — hungry, desperate. My hands went to her waist pulled her closer, squeezed her gaand through the saree. She moaned into my mouth uffff Arjun kitna pyar se pakad rahe ho.
I pushed her against the study table, lifted her saree — no panty, just black lace garter belt. Her choot was shaved smooth, pink, swollen, dripping. I touched her there — first time. She gasped aaaahhhh… I fingered her slowly then faster feeling her tight walls clench around me while she moaned continuously ungli andar daal Arjun teacher ki choot mein ungli kar zor se kar. She came hard shaking violently biting her own pallu to muffle the scream aaaahhhhh jhad rahi hoon Arjun teacher jhad rahi hai squirting on my fingers. After that she pushed me on the chair freed my lund stroked it slowly whispered kitna mota hai tera lund Arjun teacher ne kabhi socha nahi tha. She took me in her mouth sucked slowly tongue swirling around the topi taking me deep until I came in her mouth hot thick spurts and she swallowed every drop licked her lips saying tera maal kitna garam kitna tasty hai Arjun teacher ko roz chahiye ab.
We did not stop there. I pulled her saree up ate her choot for the first time — tongue inside circling clit sucking hard fingers pumping deep. She came again shaking violently squirting on my face. Then she climbed on top guided my lund inside her slowly taking me inch by inch aaaahhhh kitna bada hai tera lund Arjun teacher ki choot phaad doge. She rode me hard bouncing her breasts in my face while I sucked them slapped her gaand lightly making her moan zor se maar Arjun apni teacher ki gaand maar zor se. We changed positions missionary on the table with her legs over my shoulders deep hard thrusts doggy where I held her hips pounded from behind watching her gaand jiggle reverse cowgirl so I could see her choot swallowing my lund completely. She came four times clenching around me milking me before I exploded inside her garam garam maal daal de Arjun teacher ke andar bhar de poora bhar de.
We lay there panting sweating on the study table her head on my chest whispering Arjun yeh galat hai par teacher ko ab sirf tu chahiye roz class ke baad. Guilt crashed over me like a wave — she is teacher married elder — but the addiction had already begun.
From that Friday our “tuition” changed forever. Classes became foreplay — she wore low-cut blouses no bra nipples poking through bending low while explaining formulas brushing her breasts against my arm. After 8 p.m. when maid slept and husband was away we locked the study room and fucked — on the table on the chair on the floor against the bookshelf. She started coming to my PG when parents were out — fucked in my small room risking neighbors hearing. She swallowed my cum let me cum on her face her breasts inside her choot every time. She whispered Arjun teacher ko aapka baccha chahiye… incentive ke roop mein.
Guilt eats me every morning when I see her husband’s photo on the wall. But when she calls me to cabin “extra class” whispers sirrrr aaj incentive milega na? — I lose control.
Now January 2026 — final exams approaching. She wants “special revision classes” — full weekend at her flat when husband is in Mumbai. She said Arjun is baar teacher pregnant ho jayegi aapke bacche se.
I know I’m going to hell.
But when she calls me Arjun with that hungry voice, spreads her legs, begs for my lund — I book the cab to her flat again and again.
This is just the beginning.
(Word count: 2816 → continuing for depth)
The addiction grew faster than guilt. Every Monday she wore white shirt — transparent when sweaty — no bra — nipples poking all day. I went to her flat for “doubt clearing”. Door locked, blinds down, she sat on my lap, skirt hiked, no panty, rode me slowly grinding while I solved problems pretending to study. She came silently clenching, I filled her, cum dripping on my notes while she fixed skirt and went back to teaching smiling innocently.
Tuesdays — her bedroom after 8 pm. She bent over bed, saree lifted, I fucked her doggy hard, spanking her gaand red, pulling hair, calling her “meri randi teacher”. She moaned zor se Arjun phaad do teacher ki choot ko. I came inside, watched cum drip down her thighs while she cleaned with tissue, reapplied lipstick, went to call her husband like nothing happened.
Wednesdays — study room. She knelt, sucked me deep, gagged, tears in eyes, swallowed every drop, licked clean. Then I ate her choot on the chair, made her squirt on the physics books. She whispered Arjun aapka maal teacher ki zindagi hai ab.
Thursdays — full two hours. All positions. She rode me reverse cowgirl — I watched her gaand bounce, thumbed her gaand hole teasing anal. She begged Arjun gaand mein bhi daalo ek din. I promised soon. Came inside her choot again.
Fridays — risky quickie in kitchen when maid was in market. 5 minutes — her saree up, legs around me, fast hard thrusts, came inside while pots rattled.
Weekends — when husband traveled, full nights at her flat. We fucked non-stop — slow tender love-making with deep kisses, rough animalistic sessions with biting slapping marking. She wore her wedding saree sometimes — said Arjun teacher ko aapki biwi banakar chodne ka mazza alag hai. I tore it, fucked her hard, marked her body with bites she hid under clothes when husband returned.
Emotional talks after sex — she cried sometimes saying Arjun mujhe guilt hota hai husband ke saath dhokha de rahi hoon par aapke bina jee nahi paati. I told her I feel the same, that I love my girlfriend but can’t stop thinking of her. She said Arjun agar divorce ho gaya toh main aapki ban jaungi. Dangerous words. Exciting words.
January 2026 — board exams near. She whispered Arjun is baar special incentive — full week when husband goes to US for training. She wants me to move in, fuck her non-stop, try anal, cum inside every time, make her pregnant.
I said yes.
I know I’m destroying everything.
But when she calls me Arjun with that voice, spreads her legs, begs teacher ko chod do — I go to her flat again and again.
This is just the beginning.