Slow & Steady doesnt always win the race

The next morning, Sandra was still sticky between her thighs when she walked into the kitchen.

She hadn't showered.

Her hair was tied up messily, a few strands framing her still-glowing face. A light flush lingered across her cheeks and chest. Dried streaks of cum glistened faintly on her breasts — she hadn't wiped them all off. Not fully.

Andy was already sipping his coffee.

Sandra poured hers slowly, then leaned on the counter with one elbow, stirring it with a lazy flick of the spoon.

She glanced at him — her voice low and teasing.

"Maybe next time, I should get some milk with my tongue…"

Andy nearly choked.

She gave him a slow, knowing smile and added:

"Or better yet… drink it warm. Fresh from the source."

His cock stirred instantly.

________________________________________

Two Weeks Later.

The change wasn’t immediate — but it was unmistakable.

Sandra started lingering longer in front of the mirror. Her blouses clung tighter. She began pairing her sarees with bolder colors — wine reds, charcoal blacks, deep emeralds — the kind that hugged her hips and shimmered in the light. One clasp lower. One pleat tighter.

She wore perfume again — just a trace behind her ears. Her lipstick darkened. Her jewelry became simpler, but somehow more suggestive.

At night, Andy kept adding soft, suggestive cues to her audio track:

“You love using the dirtiest words when you're turned on — saying ‘cock,’ ‘dick,’ ‘cum,’ ‘cumslut,’ and ‘fuck me’ makes your pussy throb. Begging to be used, to be filled, to be ruined turns you on more than anything. Calling yourself a filthy whore or cumdump makes you feel sexy, and owned. The filthier your mouth, the hungrier your cunt becomes.”

Sandra never commented. But Andy could see it.

The way she looked at herself before college. On weekdays, she wore tight-fitting sarees, low-cut blouses, and soft makeup that made her lips look just a little more kissable. On weekends, she’d started slipping into sleek jeans, off-shoulder tops, high heels — and bold makeup. Dark eyeliner. Smudged lipstick. It wasn’t flashy. It was deliberate.

She didn’t say it was for Andy. She didn’t have to. The way her hips swayed a little more when she walked. The way her blouse sleeves seemed to vanish week by week.

Monday morning - Sandra stepped out of the bedroom.

And Andy stared.

She was dressed for college — but not like usual.

Her blouse was satin-black, tailored snug against her chest, sleeves ending just above the elbow. The neckline wasn’t scandalous, but dipped just enough to hint at the curve beneath. Her saree — burgundy georgette — was semi-sheer, pleated low across her hips, without a petticoat. When the light caught it right, the outline of her thighs shifted beneath the fabric like a secret.

Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder. Her lipstick — matte crimson. A fine gold chain rested above her cleavage. Her heels clicked with authority.

Everything technically within the rules.

But on her, it looked like a dare.

She stood with one hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this… too much?"

Andy’s voice was rough.

"It’s perfect. You look… like a dream I wasn’t allowed to have."

She walked up to him — slow, deliberate — placed one knee between his legs, leaned in.

"Then make a mess of me before I leave."

They barely made it to the bedroom.

He stripped her blouse open, her breasts bouncing free, nipples already hard. She climbed onto his lap, pulled his cock out, and rode him — urgently, wildly — the soft slap of skin echoing in the room.

"You want to cum inside me again?" she gasped. "Want me to wear it to college?"

Andy’s eyes burned.

"Fuck yes. I want you walking around soaked with my cum. Dripping."

"Then fill me," she begged. "Stuff your seed deep inside. I’ll clench it in all day."

He groaned and slammed into her harder, faster — until he grunted, holding deep, cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her.

She moaned, still grinding, like she could milk more.

________________________________________

30 minutes later...

Sandra adjusted her saree in the mirror.

Her skin was flushed. Her eyes were glossy.

She wasn’t wearing panties.

As she walked toward the door, Andy whispered:

"Remember, don’t push it out. Keep it in."

Sandra paused.

Smiled.

"I’ll try. But if it leaks… it’s on you."

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