Siya was sitting on the edge of her bed, folding a laundry basket of his shirts, when the door to their bedroom swung open. Thakur Sahab stood there, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He wasn't dressed in his usual casual clothes. He looked... restless. Tense. His eyes locked onto hers, and the air in the room shifted instantly, thickening with something unspoken.
He didn't greet her. He didn't ask about dinner. He just stepped inside, closed the door with a soft click, and let his gaze travel over her—over her simple cotton nightdress, over her bare feet, over the neat pile of fabric in her hands.
One hand slamming the keys, the other shoved deep inside my soaked, dripping folds, completely helpless against my own pathetic horniness. If you’re jerking off and painting your screen to my filth, you owe me for the entertainment. Drop a tip to keep this mindless, degenerate hole wet, fed, and chained to her desk typing out the ultimate smut for you to abuse yourself to. 💸💦
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