Chapter 20: The Games We Play
Shalini had woken that morning with a dangerous sense of hunger curling through her. A restlessness — a reckless, brazen desire — pulsed under her skin. The thrill of those young, hungry eyes watching her had begun to feed something buried deep, something she could no longer deny.
Malika's words repeated in her mind: "You are a queen. Make them kneel."
Her wardrobe suddenly felt too tame. Sarees seemed suffocating, churidars too routine. Today she needed to be fierce. Her fingers moved over fabrics until she landed on a ruby-red straight kurta, sleeveless, with a slit rising scandalously high, paired with nude leggings so thin they were almost sheer. The neckline plunged far enough that her lacy black bra peeked with every breath.
She checked the mirror. The look was bold, almost shocking — and it made her feel powerful.
Let them burn for me, she thought, her lips curving.
---
At school, Ravi was waiting, nervous as a skittish colt. His gaze locked on the slice of cleavage as soon as she entered, and he went pale, then flushed red. Prayush, bolder now, leaned back in his chair and let his eyes roam shamelessly from her bare arms to the outline of her thighs under the nearly transparent leggings.
Shalini felt their stares, a hot ribbon of tension trailing over her skin. Instead of turning away, she leaned into it.
She walked slowly to the chalkboard, hips swinging with every step, and "accidentally" let the thin strap of her bra slip down her shoulder. The boys froze, eyes wide.
"Prayush," she called, voice low and teasing. "Come hold this chalk for me."
He came to her side, his hands visibly trembling. As he stood close, Shalini reached to adjust the strap again, brushing his knuckles with her breast in a quick, shocking moment of contact. Prayush sucked in a sharp breath, and Shalini felt a secret pulse of arousal roll through her.
---
The class ended, but she wasn't finished.
After lunch, she prepared for her home coaching session. Today she changed again — slipping into a bottle-green sleeveless kurti with a deep side slit that showed the waistband of her black leggings. No dupatta. Her hair she left loose, glossy and thick, the kind of hair men wanted to bury their faces in.
When Ravi and Prayush arrived, she sat on a low stool instead of her usual chair, crossing her legs in a way that pulled the kurti even higher up her thighs. She leaned forward as she explained a math formula, letting the neckline of her kurti gape open, teasing glimpses of the lacy bra.
She could smell their excitement. It was nearly tangible in the still, humid air of the living room.
As she flipped a page, she "accidentally" let her sandal slip off her foot, toes curling in the air. Ravi's gaze landed on her bare foot and refused to move.
"Can you fix my sandal for me?" she asked sweetly.
His hands shook as he slipped the strap back over her ankle, his knuckles grazing her skin. She let out a tiny sigh — half genuine, half calculated — and saw him practically shiver.
---
While she worked through questions, she made excuses to stand up, to bend over the table, the side slit of her kurti drifting apart to reveal the gentle curve of her hip. Once, she even let her leggings slip low enough to expose the delicate line of her waist, a tantalizing flash of skin.
Every time, she felt their eyes tracking her like worshippers following a goddess.
It thrilled her.
---
When Prayush moved too close to grab a pencil, their thighs brushed, and Shalini didn't pull away. She felt him tense, heard the ragged edge of his breathing. A part of her wanted to scold herself — these are your students — but that voice was drowned out by the molten, dangerous pleasure of being the object of such raw, unsophisticated hunger.
You are theirs to worship, Malika's voice reminded her in her mind.
---
After the session, Shalini went to the mirror, breathing hard. The mirror showed a woman transformed — a queen with flushed cheeks, lipstick slightly smudged, the faintest gleam of sweat between her breasts.
She ran her palms down her own waist, remembering the trembling way Ravi's fingers had fastened her sandal strap, the hungry look in Prayush's dark eyes.
Her nipples tightened at the memory, the fabric of her kurti brushing them lightly, making her gasp.
---
That night, she called Malika, almost dizzy with excitement.
Malika's grin on the video call was wolfish. "So, how far did you go today?"
Shalini laughed, a little embarrassed, but the pleasure was too strong. "I… let them touch me. By mistake, but not really."
Malika's grin widened. "That's not a mistake, darling. That's a lesson. You're training them."
Shalini's heart pounded. "Is it too much? Ravi… he looked at me like he was about to faint."
"Let him faint," Malika purred. "Tomorrow, try letting him see the curve of your waist properly. They'll beg to kiss your feet if you command it."
Shalini's thighs clenched, the thought so wicked, so intoxicating.
---
The next day, she escalated further.
She wore a midnight-blue kurti with silver embroidery, the sleeves cut short to show off her toned arms, the neckline so deep it was practically a plunge. Her leggings were white, almost thin enough to outline the shape of her hips.
When she walked into class, Ravi's eyes nearly fell out of his head.
She pretended not to notice, scribbling on the board, then turned suddenly, letting the side slit open to flash a hint of smooth thigh.
The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
"Ravi, are you paying attention?" she asked in her softest, most sultry voice.
He nodded wildly, unable to meet her eyes.
Yes, she thought, a rush of power flooding her, they're completely mine.
---
At home in the evening, she tested them again.
When she stood to get water, she let the hem of her kurti catch against the chair, letting it ride up. Ravi caught a glimpse of her lower back and made a strangled sound. Prayush, bold as ever, reached out to steady her, his fingers grazing her bare waist.
She gasped — just a little — letting them hear her.
"Careful," she teased, "I might think you're trying to touch me on purpose."
Prayush looked up, mouth parted. "Maybe I am," he blurted, then bit his lip in horror.
Shalini's entire body went hot. The honesty of it, the way the words tumbled out unpolished and raw, sent a shock straight between her legs.
She didn't scold him. She just smiled — a slow, devastating smile — and turned back to her notebook, letting them drown in their own fantasies.
---
After they left, Shalini sat alone, cross-legged on the floor, heart pounding.
She felt powerful, irresistible, and wicked.
Maybe she was becoming everything she'd been afraid of: a woman who enjoyed being worshipped, who thrived on eyes devouring her curves, her scent, her voice.
And maybe, she thought, that was exactly what she needed to survive.
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