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Note: The work that follows contains themes of violation and intrusion of privacy which may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. Please exercise discretion.
Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

The rain beat against the corrugated iron sheets. It made curved patterns on the windows. They had gotten caught in the down pour, soaked by the time they made it under the shed of the cheap hotel in the centre of the city. The coaching classes had ended early. She told her mother she was visiting a friend’s house to study, while he told his parents he had extra work in school. They walked hand in hand in the rains, trying to make sure their bags did not get wet.

She had saved up some money, and they had both decided to lose their virginity to each other. He had stolen condoms from his father’s cupboard.

Braving the piercing gaze of the receptionist, they had given their IDs and convinced him that they were cousins. His gaze had lingered on her, as if he her without the wet kurti that was clinging to her body. The room was hardly luxurious, but they didn’t know better. Their best hope was that there were no hidden cameras in the room, and their acts didn’t end up on the internet. The sheets were printed with patterns of flowers and musky smells came from the pillow covers. He stood by the window first, watching the rain as she dried her hair. Then she came close to him and held her hand. They had kissed before, he had seen her naked. But this was the first time she was gonna let him inside her. It was his first time inside anybody too. He held her face in his hands, and kissed it all over, clumsily. Then overcome, he had bitten her lips and the flesh on her neck. In the way that adolescent boys are wont to do, he lunged at her, squeezing her breasts too hard. They had made their way to the bed, their clothes leaving a trail of water on the tiles. They held each other in the bed, ignoring the odour of rain and sweat that was coming from each other, putting their mouths everywhere and tasting each other. He tweaked her nipples, pinching them, and she squealed in pain. Finally, put on the condom and climbed onto her. It had taken some turning and adjusting but he finally managed to enter her. She cupped her mouth as the pain shot through her. Not knowing better, he thrust a few times till tears escaped her eyes and she pushed him off. A trail of blood lined the condom. She lay still, breathing heavily. She massaged the area between her thighs, the pain not easing up. Realising that this was how far he was gonna get, he put an arm around her and went to sleep. A little while later, she woke up, the pain having eased. She asked him to try again. This time, it hurt a little less. The pain returned a few minutes later and she had to ask him to stop. Then she went to the bathroom, and sat under the taps, the water running over her body. She fixed her hair and dressed, while he was still naked in bed.

“Let’s leave?”, she asked him.

“Okay,” he said feebly and got dressed himself.

They made their way to the reception and checked out of the hotel. They took the bus home, and he walked from her home to his. His groin ached, not drained of all the fluids he was supposed to expel. At night, under a scratch blanket, he stroked himself thinking of doing to her all the things he had seen in porn. From undressing her to entering her, he would mimic the exact movements. Maybe she would also moan loudly like the women in those videos did. As he pictured her with his ejaculate on her face, he climaxed, staining his boxer shorts and blanket. Exhausted, he lay on his back, sleep taking him.

A month later, his parents left him alone at home. They were visiting relatives and he said he wanted to study. Within minutes of them leaving, the doorbell rang. It was her. She had put on lipstick and he could tell she had used perfume. He hadn’t even taken a bath. He grabbed her waist as soon as she entered the door.

He kissed her ears and her nose before she pushed him away.

“Go bathe, you stink,” she teased him.

“Come with me,” he said as he helled her wrists.

Than he ran a hand over her breasts, pinched her butt and headed in for a shower. He could barely wash himself, his erection drawing all reason from his brain. He went out, only a towel wrapped around his waist. Then he held her hands and took her to the bedroom.

He pinched her nipples over the fabric of her cotton tshirt. Then he undressed her and pushed her head down to his groin. She took him in his mouth, unsure and awkward. She moved her head, but choked, gagging on his cock. Then she lay flat on his single bed and he entered her. It was easier this time, the smell of the condom filling the air. She would dig her nails in to his back or his waist, but this time she didn’t push him away. He came, and pulled out, the white fluid collecting in the tip. He rested his head on her stomach, and she ran her hands through his hair. He kissed the hair under her navel and curled up next to her.

Half an hour later, he was hard again. He wasted no time, removing the ribbed and dotted condoms that he had bought from his bag, and quickly unrolled one over his cock. He entered her forcefully, but there was no protest this time. She moaned and cursed and held him every time he entered her. When she dug her nails in, it was in ecstacy. He finished. This time, she did too.

Her mother was waiting with dinner when she went back home. She was surprised to see her daughter’s hair disheveled and her face flushed. With her husband around, she made no opinion. She ate, washed off his smell under the shower and went to sleep. She woke up to discover a picture he had sent on her cellphone. “Thanks for this :)” it was captioned. It was a picture of his back, her nails having left red patterns on it. She sent him pictures of the scarlet patches on her neck, courtesy of his teeth.

They chatted all day when they were aside. Their minds would be occupied by each other’s body. They felt awake, with each other, they felt alive. Everytime they wanted more, they wanted all, till it was time to leave. On the weekends they’d look for empty houses – their friends, or cousins, or friends of cousins or cousins of friends, who’d happily oblige them with a room for their carnal appetitite. They’d lie in each other’s arms, exhausted and panting from their exploits.

When her parents wanted to take her away to their relatives so she could study in peace, he was dismayed. How would he stay aside for a whole month?

Lust at all times finds a way. He started by sending her pictures in his underwear. When he’d look at porn and imagine the both of them in the scene, he’d make his way to the bathroom and take picture of his erection. He would sent them to her, only for her to respond with graphic descriptions of where she wanted him to put it, or what she would do to it. Then she sent a picture from her bath – she was in nothing but her worn out pyjamas, her hair tied up behind her, and her breasts exposed. He stroked himself to that picture, spurting on the walls of the shower.

One night they found isolated corners of their house, and called each other. With their video cameras on, she stripped, exposing her hairy cunt for him, playing with her clit, before putting her fingers in. He spread his legs and took off his boxers, his erection jumping out at her. Her throat dried up and her body tingled as she looked at his form, thinking of his touch.

Soon enough it was time for her to come back.

This time he had saved up money. They got a nicer hotel room, three times as expensive as the last one. The hotel was plush, and the receptionist was an english speaking man in a suit. There were no glances this time, even though she was in a top that was deep. Not much changed when they entered the room. The room itself was in hues of beige and white and the sheets were white, fiercely tucked into the edges of the bed, instead of the cheap printed cotton sheets. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed. He removed her top, marvelling at the bright coloured brassiere, before putting his face on her breasts. Then he yanked off her pants, and kissed her belly, running his nose over the matching bright coloured underwear. He asked her to wait a minute. Then he ran to the bathroom and brought out lotion. On his way back he fished in his bag for his phone.

“I want to see how how you look on camera,” he said.

“No please, I’ll do it all live,” she giggled, pushing his arm away.

“I’ll delete it after, I promise,” he said, putting his arms around her.

She gave in, half from arousal, and half from the temptation of seeing herself perform. She pushed all worries to the back of her mind, after all, she trusted him.

He held up his phone in one hand as he filmed. With his other he rubbed lotion on her breasts, massaging them in. Everytime he got rough, she’d yelp. But she was delighted. When she took out his cock, it was almost throbbing, and dripping with his fluids. He pointed the camera at her as he filmed her taking his cock in her mouth. Slowly at first, then he held her hair with his free hand as her head moved in a rhythm. A few minutes later, he filmed her face – white fluid on her nose and brows, running down her cheeks. He had climaxed on her, covering her with his fluids. He kissed her cum covered face. That night the phone caught all the times they made love, their bodies moving in a tempo. It caught how he lunged at her after she went in for a shower, and when he held her upside down.

After the had left, she reminded him, “You better delete that asshole!”

“I will yaar, don’t worry!”, he promised.

The weekend after, when she had finished her lunch of chicken curry and rice and was about to study, her phone began ringing. Messages poured in, for the first 10 minutes and then it rang. She picked it up. It was one of her girl friends.

“Hey check your texts, are you okay?” her friend asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked back, surprised.

A lump was forming in the back of her throat. She felt her ears burning, and noticed how gloomy the weather was outside. She picked up her phone and saw the messages. Her stomach churned. All the messages were links to numerous adult websites. The links opened to videos of her performing sexual acts with him. It was all there. Everything she’d done over the night, condensed to a clip of just over 45 minutes.

She texted him but he wouldn’t respond. She tried to call him, to be met with another wall of silence. He had blocked her on all social media as well. She sat in a corner, unable to get any words out, numb. She felt tears running down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if she felt anything to cry. She was unmoveable for the first three days, refusing food. Her parents found out on the fourth day. They wanted to protect her, but all the words that came from their mouth suggested they were ashamed and held her responsible.

Who has an affair?

Who has sex?

Who kisses boys in hotel rooms?

Love? How dare she?

How will they face everybody?

What will people say?

What would they say really? Women who exercise a lot less control over their fate in such matters were shamed. She had made decisions, she had choices. Atleast the illusion of choice. The next few weeks went by in a daze. Or maybe it was months. She knew what was happening with her, but if you’d asked her, she wouldn’t remember any detail.

What was she wearing when she’d finally decided to never speak to him again?

Was the principal yelling when he had told her that students like her could never be associated with their prestigious school?

Were her parents crying when they decided to send her off to their relatives house again?

When she finally got back to her senses, she was standing on a railway station. It was almost dawn, and the inky blue sky made lent a tinge to the quiet, not-yet-bustling station. Her aunt had come to receive her. The aunt’s mood was sombre. The crowd was sparse, and she couldn’t be sure, but she felt every gaze on her – piercing, intrusive. As if they now knew her as intimately as he did.

Her aunt did not seem to happy to have her.

“What’s happened has happened”, was the only thing her aunt said to her.

There wasn’t hostility, but there was a palpable lack of sympathy. Her aunt would converse with her only in monosyllables. She was to attend a local school, it was all girls and enforced a strict dress code. The adults in her family were certain, coloured underwear, explicit clothing and leaving her hair open in public was what had led to this. This school would allow neither. She was to dress in Indian clothes, ensure no straps were visible, even inadvertently and have her hair in a tight braid. Within days, she was lonely. She wouldn’t have admitted it to herself then, but she missed him. For months, she refused to indulge herself. She would wake up early, prepare tea for her aunt and her aunt’s husband, ready herself, attend school, and come home. After the incident, most of her friends had distanced themselves from her, and she wasn’t interested in maintaining her ties with the rest. Her mother would call her once a week, the shame in her voice evident. She hadn’t spoken to her father since they’d left the principal’s office. He had avoided her gaze when she had been home. He refused to acknowledge her existence now.

When she was returning from school a few months later, she noticed a message on her phone. It was a link. She knew what the link would be. She had seen enough of these messages. She was about to block the number when the unidentified number followed up.
12:31 PM : Is this you?

12:31 PM : There might be a way to put all this behind and build a new life.

12:32 PM: We have an opportunity for you, it pays well. Let me know if we can call.

12:33 PM: If you aren’t interested, you can ignore and we’ll leave you alone.

She replied back and told the number she could call that evening, intrigued. She was worried and uncertain, but the loneliness that had engulfed her and the drudgery of her life meant that she was eager to gamble. When she called in the evening, a slow deep voice answered. The voice spoke in perfect english and asked where she was. He explained that they were looking for people like her. He was building a roster of performers. He offered to meet her that week. They could finalise her contract, she could sign it, and he promised he would pay her a signing bonus on the spot.

A few days later, the man flew into town. He was to meet her in a cafe close to school. When she met him, she was surprised to discover a young, well groomed man. His stubble was lined perfectly, and he wore expensive leather brogues. His sunglasses hung carelessly on his fitted collared shirt. In another time, she would have been attracted to him, even fantasised about him, but she was wary of men now. He also didn’t let on he was interested in her for anything aside from commerce.

In less than an hour, she had agreed to work for his firm. She would join his roster of performers. He handed her an envelope, when she checked it had crisp currency notes. He said that she would be expected back in her city within a week. Her first performance was scheduled then.

Within the next two days, she packed her bags, and left her aunt’s house stealthily. In the dead of the night, she hailed a cab to the bus stand and paid for the cab, her bus tickets and snacks with the money from the signing amount. It wasn’t considerable, but it would suffice. When she reached her city, 10 hours later, she checked into a womens’ hostel.

On the scheduled morning she got out of bed early, and let her hair loose. All this while, her aunt hadn’t called her. Her mother had called her, but she hadn’t received her mother’s call. After the third attempt, there were no calls from her mother. There hadn’t been any since. She stood in the balcony of her hostel room, which she shared with 2 other women, and felt the salty air on her skin. She felt sensual, after almost a year, she allowed her body’s impulses to take over. She made her way to the address she was given, tingling all over.

The address was a large villa, with a pool and a lawn. The sign suggested it doubled up as a studio and could be rented. The man was there, he welcomed her in and guided her to the dressing room. Other young women and men were also present in the dressing room. She was asked to put on a costume and another young woman did her hair and makeup. Soon, another man, with a speaker and mic around his head came in with a clipboard. He barked out instructions. She was to go to a room on the upper floor, it overlooked the pool. The room was well decorated, with paintings, a large bed and a camera setup attached to a computer facing the bed. The man with thr clipboard showed her the setup. She went and spread herself on the bed. When it was time to go live, the man with clipboard left the room, shutting the door behind him. He turned quickly before leaving giving her a thumbs up and mouthing “Best of luck”.

The laptop screen lit up. Comments poured in, and with some of them, graphics of coins. Those graphics meant she would have to do as the comments suggested. She slowly undressed, warming up as her performance progressed. Soon, she played with her breasts, and as she got comfortable, stretched her pussy for the camera. Because one paid opinion asked her to do so, she hooked a finger in her pussy, and showed the fluids that had gotten on the finger. Then she put that finger in her mouth. An hour later, she shut the camera. She went back to the dressing room, now deserted. After she had showered, she noticed an envelope with her name on it on the dressing table. Her payment. Another considerable amount.

Her work was simple. She would have to come to the locations everytime they filmed. She would get an amount for every performance. If she wanted to earn more, she could also perform at will in her home or anywhere she found convenient. What and how she performed was to be her decision. She could use a partner if she wanted. She picked a stage name.

Over the next year, she performed at numerous places. Her shower, plush hotel rooms and shady motels, and on location. She would use a variety of tools and ways to keep her audiences enthralled. She inserted steel balls, vegetables and fruits and silicone toys in her pussy. If the money was good, she would shove it inside her asshole. She used oil and lube, and milk and cream, whatever her audience requested, they got. She’d use venetian masks and nursing uniforms and military fatigues to spice up the hours she spent performing, making elaborate tales and stories. Some of her wealthier fans purchased nights with her, away from the cameras ofcourse. These nights costed them a fortune. But she was ruthless when it came to money. Over the next few months, she rented a small apartment, and she decorated it with numerous performance spaces. One wall had a neon pink sign for her stage name : GabriellaXO. She also began considering partners.

When he was alone, he put on the laptop. The screen lit up and he went to the website. He recognised her body in an instant. He had spent the last two years thinking about her. He clicked on the link.
She was with a large man, muscular, with a bulge at his groin. He charged at her, and lifted her, throwing her over his shoulders. He held on to the folds of her buttocks as he carried her into the bedroom. She wrapped her arm around his neck, biting his ear. She looked at him hungrily, like she was waiting for him and couldn’t wait to feel his large dark cock inside her. He lay her down on the bed gently. She spread her legs and called to him, her pubis thick and dark against her untanned skin, in the shape of her underwear. He walked towards her and put on a condom. She felt it with her fingers, tracing the veins that bulged out of the latex. She pulled the condom off her with her teeth, and kissed the head. She pleasured the top of his cock with her mouth, unable to take it all in. She then stroked it till he suddenly climaxed, a thin watery stream escaping from the tip. It covered her face, but his cock went limp.
She went offline at that point. The screen went blank, with GabriellaXO on it in neon pink.

A pang of guilt came over him, as a smile escaped his lips. She was there because of him. Atleast he lasted longer. He climaxed to thoughts of her, and to pictures she had put up on the website recently. He didn’t know what had gotten over him then. She had to quit school and move, her parents hadn’t spoken to her in years as far as he knew. In the nature of somebody who had faced no repercussions for his actions, he philosophized – what’s done is done. She was where she was, he was where he was. He lit up a cigarette and stood over his balcony. A car that looked like it was newly bought passed underneath.

That weekend, it was her father’s birthday. She was hoping they’d atleast open the door and let her in. She hoped they would be happy to see the car she’d bought just a week ago. She had also brought him a gift – a Rolex.

NSFW: yes

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