English Sex Story Fantasy Fakes AI (Realistic)

[hotaks]

The 'Sanskar-less' Widow!

Meera: A young widow who is a sharp, fiercely independent woman tired of being treated as an object of pity or a ticking moral time bomb.

Ramesh a.k.a Mamaji: A powerful, traditional patriarch in the extended family or community. He is deeply chauvinistic, obsessed with maintaining societal image, and constantly preaches about 'Sanskar' (traditional values), modesty, and how a widow "ought to behave." His rigid exterior masks a deeply repressed attraction to Meera.

....To be Continued...

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

Behind his impenetrable wall of righteousness lay a dark, roiling obsession that Ramesh had spent months desperately trying to bury. Having lived a strictly disciplined, supposedly celibate life for all his fifty-one years, he took immense pride in his reputation as a man above worldly temptations—a living pillar of purity. Yet, the moment Meera entered this family, that carefully constructed facade began to fracture. He viewed her as completely unobtainable, a tragic angel locked away by tragedy, which only made his buried, forbidden desires for her burn with a suffocating intensity. To cope with the terrifying heat of his own arousal, he weaponized his sanskar, converting his repressed lust into a toxic mix of prejudice and constant moral policing. He convinced himself that if he couldn't have her, no one could, masking his deep-seated jealousy behind aggressive lectures on modesty. But Meera was far from blind. Despite her delicate, unassuming appearance, she possessed a razor-sharp intuition and had caught the heavy, lingering trajectory of his gaze more than once when he thought no one was looking.

That night, from the shadows of the doorway, Ramesh watched them. The rain was drumming on the terrace, but their laughter—light, easy, and intimate—seemed to pierce through the downpour, infuriating him. Meera, still in her simple white widow's saree, was leaning close to Gopal, the young college student from next door. They were sharing earbuds to listen to music, giggling over something on Gopal's phone. Gopal’s proximity to her, the sheer aliveness on Meera's face, made Ramesh’s blood run cold, then boil with a possessive, dark jealousy he desperately tried to mask as moral outrage. His fists clenched at his sides, while boiling with intense anger.



Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

Behind his impenetrable wall of righteousness lay a dark, roiling obsession that Ramesh had spent months desperately trying to bury. Having lived a strictly disciplined, supposedly celibate life for all his fifty-one years, he took immense pride in his reputation as a man above worldly temptations—a living pillar of purity. Yet, the moment Meera entered this family, that carefully constructed facade began to fracture. He viewed her as completely unobtainable, a tragic angel locked away by tragedy, which only made his buried, forbidden desires for her burn with a suffocating intensity. To cope with the terrifying heat of his own arousal, he weaponized his sanskar, converting his repressed lust into a toxic mix of prejudice and constant moral policing. He convinced himself that if he couldn't have her, no one could, masking his deep-seated jealousy behind aggressive lectures on modesty. But Meera was far from blind. Despite her delicate, unassuming appearance, she possessed a razor-sharp intuition and had caught the heavy, lingering trajectory of his gaze more than once when he thought no one was looking.

That night, from the shadows of the doorway, Ramesh watched them. The rain was drumming on the terrace, but their laughter—light, easy, and intimate—seemed to pierce through the downpour, infuriating him. Meera, still in her simple white widow's saree, was leaning close to Gopal, the young college student from next door. They were sharing earbuds to listen to music, giggling over something on Gopal's phone. Gopal’s proximity to her, the sheer aliveness on Meera's face, made Ramesh’s blood run cold, then boil with a possessive, dark jealousy he desperately tried to mask as moral outrage. His fists clenched at his sides, while boiling with intense anger.

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

Unable to contain the raging storm brewing inside him any longer, he stepped onto the terrace and bellowed, “Meera! What is the meaning of this obscenity?” The sharp command cut through the sound of the rain, startling them both; Meera jumped, nearly dropping the earbud as Gopal looked up, pale and confused.

Ramesh strode towards them, his eyes blazing, his voice low and vibrating with judgmental authority as he pointed a trembling finger at the boy. "You, Gopal—take your phone and go home this instant. I will be speaking to your father in the morning."

Gopal swallowed hard, stammering, "Uncle, please, it’s not what you think, we were just—" but Ramesh cut him off with a venomous glare. Meera tried to step in, her voice soft but defensive, "Mamaji, please don't get angry at him. Gopal was just showing me a funny video to cheer me up."

Ramesh’s gaze didn't soften; instead, a sudden gust of wind caught Meera's white chiffon saree, causing the pallu to billow wildly into the air and exposing the smooth, bare skin of her waist and navel. Ramesh’s eyes locked onto it for a breathless, heavy second before his hypocritical rage flared even brighter. "Have you no shame, Meera?" he hissed, stepping closer. "Look at you! Standing in the dark with your saree floating in the air, your navel completely on display for the neighbor's boy to gawk at. Giggling like a schoolgirl when you should be mourning. Let me remind you: a widow's life is meant for prayer and modesty, not for flaunting her body on terraces. Your behavior is a disgrace to your husband's memory and to this family's sanskar. Pull your saree over yourself, go to your room, and start acting like a woman who understands dignity."

Meera instinctively clutched the billowing fabric of her saree, pulling it tight against her waist to hide her skin from his piercing, accusatory gaze. "He was just trying to keep my spirits up, Mamaji," she pleaded softly, her large eyes wide with a mixture of hurt and defiance. "Ever since... since Ravi's passing... this house has been so quiet. It was just an innocent joke."

Ramesh let out a harsh, mocking scoff, stepping directly into her **censored** space so she could feel the heat of his anger. "Spirits up?" he whispered sharply, his eyes darting briefly back to her tightly wrapped waist before locking onto her face.

"A widow’s spirit should be grounded in penance, Meera, not elevated by the cheap humor of a neighborhood boy. If you have so much free time to dwell on your spirits, perhaps you should spend it wisely. You can read a few books in my library on how to be more 'spiritual' than 'spirited'. Let the scriptures teach you the restraint that your upbringing clearly failed to give you."...Leaving them in shock as he stormed away.

Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

Unable to contain the raging storm brewing inside him any longer, he stepped onto the terrace and bellowed, “Meera! What is the meaning of this obscenity?” The sharp command cut through the sound of the rain, startling them both; Meera jumped, nearly dropping the earbud as Gopal looked up, pale and confused.

Ramesh strode towards them, his eyes blazing, his voice low and vibrating with judgmental authority as he pointed a trembling finger at the boy. "You, Gopal—take your phone and go home this instant. I will be speaking to your father in the morning."

Gopal swallowed hard, stammering, "Uncle, please, it’s not what you think, we were just—" but Ramesh cut him off with a venomous glare. Meera tried to step in, her voice soft but defensive, "Mamaji, please don't get angry at him. Gopal was just showing me a funny video to cheer me up."

Ramesh’s gaze didn't soften; instead, a sudden gust of wind caught Meera's white chiffon saree, causing the pallu to billow wildly into the air and exposing the smooth, bare skin of her waist and navel. Ramesh’s eyes locked onto it for a breathless, heavy second before his hypocritical rage flared even brighter. "Have you no shame, Meera?" he hissed, stepping closer. "Look at you! Standing in the dark with your saree floating in the air, your navel completely on display for the neighbor's boy to gawk at. Giggling like a schoolgirl when you should be mourning. Let me remind you: a widow's life is meant for prayer and modesty, not for flaunting her body on terraces. Your behavior is a disgrace to your husband's memory and to this family's sanskar. Pull your saree over yourself, go to your room, and start acting like a woman who understands dignity."

Meera instinctively clutched the billowing fabric of her saree, pulling it tight against her waist to hide her skin from his piercing, accusatory gaze. "He was just trying to keep my spirits up, Mamaji," she pleaded softly, her large eyes wide with a mixture of hurt and defiance. "Ever since... since Ravi's passing... this house has been so quiet. It was just an innocent joke."

Ramesh let out a harsh, mocking scoff, stepping directly into her censored space so she could feel the heat of his anger. "Spirits up?" he whispered sharply, his eyes darting briefly back to her tightly wrapped waist before locking onto her face.

"A widow’s spirit should be grounded in penance, Meera, not elevated by the cheap humor of a neighborhood boy. If you have so much free time to dwell on your spirits, perhaps you should spend it wisely. You can read a few books in my library on how to be more 'spiritual' than 'spirited'. Let the scriptures teach you the restraint that your upbringing clearly failed to give you."...Leaving them in shock as he stormed away.

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

The humiliation from the night before lingered heavily in Meera’s mind, making sleep impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, Ramesh’s harsh, booming voice echoed in her ears, mocking her grief and reducing her innocent laughter to an act of shamelessness. But beneath the sting of his insults, she remembered the heavy, suffocating weight of his gaze and the sweat on his brow. By morning, her hurt had crystallized into cold resolve.

Later that afternoon, she quietly stepped into Ramesh’s private study. The room was vast, lined with towering mahogany bookshelves filled with ancient texts, smelling heavily of aged paper and sandalwood incense. She ran her fingers along the spines before intentionally pulling a heavy, leather-bound scripture on sensory control from the shelf.

Hearing a movement, Ramesh walked into the room, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes widened in genuine shock.

"You? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and immediate defensiveness.

Meera turned slowly, holding the thick book against her chest. She had worn a simple, pristine white saree today, but she had left her hair completely open, cascading softly over her shoulders.

"You told me to come, Mamaji," she said, her voice dropping to a soft, incredibly submissive melody. "You said my spirit needed grounding. I couldn't sleep at all last night thinking about your words. I realized... you are right. I am weak. I want to learn how to be pure, like you."

Ramesh cleared his throat, his posture instantly stiffening into his usual patriarchal rigidity, though his heart skipped a beat at her proximity. "It is...uhh... good that you have realized your mistake, Meera. Decorum is everything."

Meera took a slow step closer to his desk, opening the heavy book. "I was reading this chapter on 'Indriya Nigraha'—the control of the senses. It says a truly evolved soul is never swayed by external beauty. Tell me, Mamaji... how does one achieve that? Is control truly about pretending desire doesn't exist, or is it about facing it directly and remaining unmoved?"

Ramesh adjusted his collar, feeling a sudden warmth in the air. "It is about absolute elimination of thought, Meera. A disciplined mind doesn't even recognize temptation. A woman of sanskar helps a man maintain that discipline by remaining invisible, modest."

"Invisible?" Meera murmured, walking around the edge of his desk, stepping directly into his **censored** space. The scent of jasmine from her hair completely overwhelmed the smell of incense. "But how can a man test his true purity if the temptation is invisible? For instance... if a spark is right in front of you, shouldn't a master of sanskar be strong enough to look at it without burning?"

Ramesh’s breathing turned shallow. His hands gripped the edge of his desk as she leaned slightly over the book. His eyes involuntarily darted down to her lips and body. "A disciplined mind... sees only the soul.. THE SOUL" he stammered, his voice losing its authoritative edge for the first time in his life.

Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

The humiliation from the night before lingered heavily in Meera’s mind, making sleep impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, Ramesh’s harsh, booming voice echoed in her ears, mocking her grief and reducing her innocent laughter to an act of shamelessness. But beneath the sting of his insults, she remembered the heavy, suffocating weight of his gaze and the sweat on his brow. By morning, her hurt had crystallized into cold resolve.

Later that afternoon, she quietly stepped into Ramesh’s private study. The room was vast, lined with towering mahogany bookshelves filled with ancient texts, smelling heavily of aged paper and sandalwood incense. She ran her fingers along the spines before intentionally pulling a heavy, leather-bound scripture on sensory control from the shelf.

Hearing a movement, Ramesh walked into the room, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes widened in genuine shock.

"You? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and immediate defensiveness.

Meera turned slowly, holding the thick book against her chest. She had worn a simple, pristine white saree today, but she had left her hair completely open, cascading softly over her shoulders.

"You told me to come, Mamaji," she said, her voice dropping to a soft, incredibly submissive melody. "You said my spirit needed grounding. I couldn't sleep at all last night thinking about your words. I realized... you are right. I am weak. I want to learn how to be pure, like you."

Ramesh cleared his throat, his posture instantly stiffening into his usual patriarchal rigidity, though his heart skipped a beat at her proximity. "It is...uhh... good that you have realized your mistake, Meera. Decorum is everything."

Meera took a slow step closer to his desk, opening the heavy book. "I was reading this chapter on 'Indriya Nigraha'—the control of the senses. It says a truly evolved soul is never swayed by external beauty. Tell me, Mamaji... how does one achieve that? Is control truly about pretending desire doesn't exist, or is it about facing it directly and remaining unmoved?"

Ramesh adjusted his collar, feeling a sudden warmth in the air. "It is about absolute elimination of thought, Meera. A disciplined mind doesn't even recognize temptation. A woman of sanskar helps a man maintain that discipline by remaining invisible, modest."

"Invisible?" Meera murmured, walking around the edge of his desk, stepping directly into his censored space. The scent of jasmine from her hair completely overwhelmed the smell of incense. "But how can a man test his true purity if the temptation is invisible? For instance... if a spark is right in front of you, shouldn't a master of sanskar be strong enough to look at it without burning?"

Ramesh’s breathing turned shallow. His hands gripped the edge of his desk as she leaned slightly over the book. His eyes involuntarily darted down to her lips and body. "A disciplined mind... sees only the soul.. THE SOUL" he stammered, his voice losing its authoritative edge for the first time in his life.

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

"THE SOUL...ahh...hmmm....The text says that a truly pure soul treats the physical form as nothing more than a temporary shroud—a mere layer of cloth over the eternal truth," Meera murmured, her doe eyes wide with a look of intense, innocent curiosity as she looked directly at him. "Is that how you see it, Ramesh ji..uhh...I mean Mama ji? That the layers we wear mean nothing to a disciplined mind?"

Ramesh's breathing turned shallow, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair as her proximity overwhelmed him. "Yes... the body is nothing," he stammered, trying to anchor himself to his usual rigidity. "A man of true sanskar looks past the flesh."

"Past the flesh!! hmm??" Meera repeated softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her blouse teasingly. "But the text also talks about the burden of attachment to these worldly layers. It says that to truly understand detachment, one must understand how easily the material world can be discarded."

Slowly, keeping her gaze entirely fixed on his trembling eyes as if she were merely demonstrating a philosophical point, her hand drifted to her own shoulder. With a fluid, agonizingly slow motion, she nudged the white linen sleeve of her blouse down, letting it slide smoothly off her shoulder to expose the bare, golden curve of her skin.

"If the fabric is truly an illusion, Ramesh ji..." she whispered, her voice a gentle, hypnotic thread that completely trapped him, "...then a master of scriptures shouldn't even notice when it shifts, isn't it??? Tell me how you look past it !! Teach me how your 'Sanskar' keeps you completely detached if any temptation is standing right in front of you?? hmmnn??"

Ramesh stared at her bare shoulder, completely paralyzed. The hypocritical lectures died in his throat, and the illusion of his fifty years of absolute control began to violently break.

Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

"THE SOUL...ahh...hmmm....The text says that a truly pure soul treats the physical form as nothing more than a temporary shroud—a mere layer of cloth over the eternal truth," Meera murmured, her doe eyes wide with a look of intense, innocent curiosity as she looked directly at him. "Is that how you see it, Ramesh ji..uhh...I mean Mama ji? That the layers we wear mean nothing to a disciplined mind?"

Ramesh's breathing turned shallow, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair as her proximity overwhelmed him. "Yes... the body is nothing," he stammered, trying to anchor himself to his usual rigidity. "A man of true sanskar looks past the flesh."

"Past the flesh!! hmm??" Meera repeated softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her blouse teasingly. "But the text also talks about the burden of attachment to these worldly layers. It says that to truly understand detachment, one must understand how easily the material world can be discarded."

Slowly, keeping her gaze entirely fixed on his trembling eyes as if she were merely demonstrating a philosophical point, her hand drifted to her own shoulder. With a fluid, agonizingly slow motion, she nudged the white linen sleeve of her blouse down, letting it slide smoothly off her shoulder to expose the bare, golden curve of her skin.

"If the fabric is truly an illusion, Ramesh ji..." she whispered, her voice a gentle, hypnotic thread that completely trapped him, "...then a master of scriptures shouldn't even notice when it shifts, isn't it??? Tell me how you look past it !! Teach me how your 'Sanskar' keeps you completely detached if any temptation is standing right in front of you?? hmmnn??"

Ramesh stared at her bare shoulder, completely paralyzed. The hypocritical lectures died in his throat, and the illusion of his fifty years of absolute control began to violently break.

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

Ramesh’s eyes remained helplessly anchored to her bare shoulder, his throat too dry to form a single word of the reprimand his mind was screaming for.



"There is another verse here, Ramesh ji," she murmured, her voice dripping with an innocent, scholarly curiosity that contrasted sharply with the dangerous field of tension she was weaving around them. "It speaks of Maya—the ultimate illusion. It says that man is constantly trapped by what is hidden, that his mind wanders because he imagines what lies beneath the veil."

Ramesh swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he tried to pull his gaze up to her face, only to find her large, dark eyes looking down at him with an unblinking, hypnotic intensity. "Maya... must be conquered," he managed to choke out, his voice a pathetic shadow of his usual booming authority. "A righteous man... does not let his mind w-w-wander."

"But how do you conquer an illusion without facing it completely?" Meera asked softly, her tone entirely conversational, as if they were merely debating a fine point of theology. "The commentary says that true purity isn't achieved by hiding from the truth, but by looking directly at the source of temptation and remaining entirely detached. Am I understanding it correctly?"

Ramesh couldn't answer. The air in the room felt entirely depleted.

"Let us test the depth of your Sanskar, then," she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, velvety thread.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact for a single second, her hands moved to the front of her blouse. With an unhurried, agonizing precision, her fingers undid the traditional hooks one by one. There was no haste, no sudden movement—just a calm, methodical unravelling that felt like a slow-motion tortured execution of his fifty-one years of feigned celibacy.

As the fabric parted, she pulled the linen blouse wide open, completely exposing her bare breasts to his wide, trembling gaze. The pale light of the study caught the soft curves of her chest, a breathtaking vision of raw femininity sitting mere inches from his face.

Ramesh’s breath hitched completely, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as a cold shock paralyzed his entire body. He had spent his whole life preaching about covering women up, policing their clothes, and shaming their bodies, yet here she sat, completely unbound, presenting the ultimate temptation right before his eyes like an offering of absolute truth. With a quivering voice he said, "Meera...wwhat are you..??"

"Look at me, Ramesh ji," Meera whispered, her face perfectly serene, a stark contrast to the absolute chaos storming inside him. "The scriptures say the flesh is just an illusion of nature. If your mind is truly pure, your heartbeat shouldn't quicken. Your hands shouldn't shake. Tell me... do you see a sin sitting in front of you, or are you strong enough to look at what you’ve secretly desired all along?"

Ramesh sat entirely shocked to the core, his mouth slightly open but completely empty of words. The fierce, untouchable patriarch who had spent decades dictating morals to the world was entirely broken, reduced to a trembling, powerless spectator in his own sanctuary, utterly shattered by the sheer audacity of her move.

Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

Ramesh’s eyes remained helplessly anchored to her bare shoulder, his throat too dry to form a single word of the reprimand his mind was screaming for.

"There is another verse here, Ramesh ji," she murmured, her voice dripping with an innocent, scholarly curiosity that contrasted sharply with the dangerous field of tension she was weaving around them. "It speaks of Maya—the ultimate illusion. It says that man is constantly trapped by what is hidden, that his mind wanders because he imagines what lies beneath the veil."

Ramesh swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he tried to pull his gaze up to her face, only to find her large, dark eyes looking down at him with an unblinking, hypnotic intensity. "Maya... must be conquered," he managed to choke out, his voice a pathetic shadow of his usual booming authority. "A righteous man... does not let his mind w-w-wander."

"But how do you conquer an illusion without facing it completely?" Meera asked softly, her tone entirely conversational, as if they were merely debating a fine point of theology. "The commentary says that true purity isn't achieved by hiding from the truth, but by looking directly at the source of temptation and remaining entirely detached. Am I understanding it correctly?"

Ramesh couldn't answer. The air in the room felt entirely depleted.

"Let us test the depth of your Sanskar, then," she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, velvety thread.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact for a single second, her hands moved to the front of her blouse. With an unhurried, agonizing precision, her fingers undid the traditional hooks one by one. There was no haste, no sudden movement—just a calm, methodical unravelling that felt like a slow-motion tortured execution of his fifty-one years of feigned celibacy.

As the fabric parted, she pulled the linen blouse wide open, completely exposing her bare breasts to his wide, trembling gaze. The pale light of the study caught the soft curves of her chest, a breathtaking vision of raw femininity sitting mere inches from his face.

Ramesh’s breath hitched completely, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as a cold shock paralyzed his entire body. He had spent his whole life preaching about covering women up, policing their clothes, and shaming their bodies, yet here she sat, completely unbound, presenting the ultimate temptation right before his eyes like an offering of absolute truth. With a quivering voice he said, "Meera...wwhat are you..??"

"Look at me, Ramesh ji," Meera whispered, her face perfectly serene, a stark contrast to the absolute chaos storming inside him. "The scriptures say the flesh is just an illusion of nature. If your mind is truly pure, your heartbeat shouldn't quicken. Your hands shouldn't shake. Tell me... do you see a sin sitting in front of you, or are you strong enough to look at what you’ve secretly desired all along?"

Ramesh sat entirely shocked to the core, his mouth slightly open but completely empty of words. The fierce, untouchable patriarch who had spent decades dictating morals to the world was entirely broken, reduced to a trembling, powerless spectator in his own sanctuary, utterly shattered by the sheer audacity of her move.

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

Meera looked down at him, her face completely calm. She looked like a student focused only on her book, making his heavy breathing sound even louder in the quiet room. She moved a step closer, letting her white saree slide down a bit more. This completely exposed her bare waist and her deep navel—the exact same part of her body he had yelled at her for showing the night before.

"The book explains that a woman's body is like a mirror," she said softly, her voice smooth and steady. "It says that a truly holy man can look at the very center of a woman and feel absolutely nothing. Tell me, Ramesh ji... when you look here, do you feel strong in your rules, or do you feel helpless?"

Seeing her soft, curving hips so close to his face was too much for Ramesh. The desire he had hidden for fifty-one years completely broke him. Forgetting all his pride, he leaned forward with a low groan. He gripped his chair, buried his face against her bare hip, and pressed a needy, shaking kiss onto her skin.

Meera let out a small gasp, pretending to be deeply shocked. She didn't move away, but looked down at his grey head with a secret feeling of victory. She used his own favorite religious ideas to trap him.

"Ramesh ji!" she whispered, acting surprised. "The holy books say that when a wise teacher falls, he falls the hardest. Is this how a man who preaches rules shows his control? Is your lifetime of pure living so weak that it melts away the moment you touch what you call an illusion? Tell me, Mamaji... how can anyone follow a guide who loses his own way the moment he sees what is hidden?"

Shraddha Kapoor

 

[hotaks]

Meera looked down at him, her face completely calm. She looked like a student focused only on her book, making his heavy breathing sound even louder in the quiet room. She moved a step closer, letting her white saree slide down a bit more. This completely exposed her bare waist and her deep navel—the exact same part of her body he had yelled at her for showing the night before.

"The book explains that a woman's body is like a mirror," she said softly, her voice smooth and steady. "It says that a truly holy man can look at the very center of a woman and feel absolutely nothing. Tell me, Ramesh ji... when you look here, do you feel strong in your rules, or do you feel helpless?"

Seeing her soft, curving hips so close to his face was too much for Ramesh. The desire he had hidden for fifty-one years completely broke him. Forgetting all his pride, he leaned forward with a low groan. He gripped his chair, buried his face against her bare hip, and pressed a needy, shaking kiss onto her skin.

Meera let out a small gasp, pretending to be deeply shocked. She didn't move away, but looked down at his grey head with a secret feeling of victory. She used his own favorite religious ideas to trap him.

"Ramesh ji!" she whispered, acting surprised. "The holy books say that when a wise teacher falls, he falls the hardest. Is this how a man who preaches rules shows his control? Is your lifetime of pure living so weak that it melts away the moment you touch what you call an illusion? Tell me, Mamaji... how can anyone follow a guide who loses his own way the moment he sees what is hidden?"

Shraddha Kapoor

Click to expand...

As she turned slightly to lean against the heavy wooden desk for support, the remaining folds of her white saree loosened completely, dropping down her hips to pool around her ankles. She stood before him almost entirely unclad from behind, her smooth, bare skin glowing in the dim light of the study. Ramesh was past the point of reason; he dropped to his knees on the floor, completely lost to his repressed urges, and began pressing desperate, wild kisses all over her bare backside.

Meera gripped the edge of the desk, looking over her shoulder at the powerful patriarch reduced to a pleading wreck at her feet. Even as his lips moved hungrily licking over her soft butt-cheek skin, she maintained her soft, conversational tone, using his own beloved scriptures to taunt his utter defeat.

"The texts speak so beautifully about Asana—the proper posture for devotion," she whispered, a mocking smile playing on her lips as she felt his shaking hands grip her thighs. "They say a true seeker bows only before the highest divine truth. Tell me, Ramesh ji... is this the holy position you envisioned when you were lecturing me about purity on the terrace? You told me a widow must live in the shadows, yet here you are, worshiping the very flesh you called a sin. It seems the grand teacher of sanskar prefers to study his scriptures from the very bottom....ummm???... HAHAHA"

Shraddha Kapoor