Bijayini sat stiffly on the bench, arms half-lowered as Soumya continued kneading her heavy D-cup breasts. His palms felt hot and possessive, squeezing the soft, overflowing flesh. She turned her face away, lips pressed into a thin line, breathing hard through her nose in a mix of lingering arousal, shame, and growing fear.

“Please… Soumya, that’s enough,” she whispered, voice shaky.