The clock on Ananya’s wall read 7:45 p.m. when Rohan slipped through the back gate again. His cock was already half-hard in his jeans just from the memory of last night—her throat squeezing him, her pussy milking every drop, the filthy promise of Priya joining them. He carried the project folder like a prop, but they both knew no charts would be drawn tonight.

Ananya opened the kitchen door wearing her full school uniform. White shirt buttoned only to the navel, blue tie loose around her neck, pleated skirt hiked scandalously high so the white lace edge of her panties peeked out with every step. Knee-high socks, black school shoes still on. Hair in two neat braids. She looked like every depraved fantasy he’d jerked off to in class, except now she was real, wet, and waiting.