**Disclaimer:**
All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. This is a work of pure adult fiction intended for mature readers only.
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My heartbeat climbed with every inch the white leggings slid down my thighs.
I stopped them just below the line of my panties.
If I took them off completely, Rohit might think I was offering everything at once. I didn't want that. I wanted him to believe he was the one pushing, the one taking advantage of a weak moment—while in truth I was the one deciding how far this would go.
I pulled the leggings back up and spoke quietly.
"I'll be back in two minutes. Stay there."
I stood, picked up the plastic bag Ratna had left, and walked out of the classroom. The corridor was still empty. I went straight to the staff toilet, locked the door behind me, and faced the mirror.
My reflection looked flushed, almost feverish.
I removed the transparent kurti and the ordinary black bra. In their place I fastened the tiny, nearly invisible bra Ratna had given me. The thin material barely covered my nipples. Then I stepped out of the leggings, removed my regular panties, and slid on the transparent crotchless thong. The fabric was so fine it felt like wearing nothing. Finally I pulled the white leggings back up—but not before carefully tearing a small, deliberate opening at the crotch.
When I looked in the mirror again, the shape of my bare sex was faintly visible through the thin white cotton and the clear thong beneath. Heat and shame twisted together in my stomach. I folded my original undergarments into the plastic bag, smoothed my kurti back into place, and returned to the classroom.
Rohit was no longer under the desk.
He sat on his own bench, one of my discarded socks clutched in his fist. He was holding it to his nose, eyes half-closed, inhaling deeply while his other hand pressed and rubbed slowly over the obvious bulge in his pants.
The sight sent a dark, satisfied current through me.
He wanted this as badly as my body did. The only thing that had stopped him was fear of being caught.
I closed and locked the classroom door behind me, then walked to my desk and sat down. My voice came out calm, almost casual.
"Rohit."
His head snapped up. The sock lowered instantly. "Ji, Shalini Ma'am."
I gave him a small smile.
"My feet are still hurting a little. Come press them again."
He stood so quickly the bench scraped against the floor. The eagerness on his face almost made me laugh. As he started toward me I added, still in that same quiet tone:
"Lock the door properly first. And close the windows too."
He obeyed without question. In under a minute every window was shut, the door double-checked, and the classroom sealed from the outside world. By the time he returned to me he was slightly out of breath, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
I looked at him and let my smile widen just a fraction.
"Slowly, Rohit. No one is coming. I already told Ratna. If anyone enters the school, she'll call me."
The change in his expression was immediate—pure, unguarded relief mixed with hunger. He dropped to his knees in front of my chair, gently removed my sandals, and without any hesitation this time brought my right foot straight to his mouth.
The first long, wet stroke of his tongue dragged a low sound from my throat.
"Aah…"
I rested my head back against the chair and looked down at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Easy," I murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
Rohit made a soft, broken sound against my skin and licked again—slower now, deeper, as if trying to memorise the taste. He kissed the arch, sucked gently at each toe, then dragged his tongue along the sole in broad, worshipful strokes. The faint scent of my skin and the earlier sweat seemed to drive him further into that quiet trance of devotion.
I watched him in silence for a long moment.
Then I parted my knees a little wider.
The torn opening in my leggings and the transparent thong beneath left me exposed to the cool air of the classroom—and to his line of sight if he chose to look up. I did not cover myself. I simply placed one hand lightly on the back of his head, not pushing, just resting there, and spoke in a voice that had grown softer and more certain.
"Take your time."
Rohit's breath shuddered against my wet toes.
He nodded once, eyes closed, and returned his mouth to my feet with renewed reverence—kissing, licking, breathing me in—as if he had been given permission to pray.
Outside, the school grounds remained quiet.
Inside the locked classroom, the only sounds were the soft, wet noise of his tongue and the slow, controlled rhythm of my breathing as I sat above him, legs open, and let the boy who worshipped me continue his quiet, hungry devotion.
Something irreversible had begun.
And this time, I was the one guiding it.