Chapter 1: The Tease That Burns
Ifti scrolled through his phone, the dim light of the screen casting shadows across his face in the quiet of his Dhaka apartment. Suha. That name alone was enough to make his heart race and his blood boil. They’d been chatting on Facebook for years—casual hellos turning into late-night confessions. She’d spill her heart out about Kowshik, her toxic boyfriend, crying over how he’d rough her up in bed, leaving her bruised but somehow still craving more. Back then, she was this innocent, petite girl with small breasts and a shy smile. But Kowshik changed her. Over time, her face hardened, her body transformed into an hourglass of sin—slim waist, fuller, softer breasts from all the groping and fucking she’d endured. She’d become a bitch, and damn, Ifti couldn’t help but want her more for it.
She’d tease him relentlessly. Pictures in tight kameez and salwar, no bra underneath, her nipples poking through the fabric, making him hard as hell. Once, after a nasty fight with Kowshik, she’d sent him old nudes—her small tits on display, vulnerable yet daring. It drove him wild. But Suha was a game-player. Even after she swore she was done with Kowshik for good, Ifti could sense she was still tied to that bastard. She’d go out with him, chat with other guys right in front of Ifti, post stories with random dudes just to make him feel like a loser. And yet, that bitchy attitude only made his cock throb harder. He wanted to taste her, to claim her, to fuck her senseless until she broke under him.
Tonight, though, the game hit a new low. He’d bought her a black satin kameez and salwar for a special occasion—she’d begged for it, saying she had no money. Ifti had been thrilled, imagining her wearing it for him. But she canceled their meet-up last minute, only to post a story later that night. There she was, in the kameez he’d gifted, with some guy named Rohan grabbing her by the waist. She looked fucking hot, the fabric clinging to her curves. Then came the video call. Suha, at Rohan’s place, smirked through the screen, her voice dripping with mockery. 'Oi Ifti, dekho na, Rohan tore the kameez you bought. He couldn’t help it, sucked my tits right through it before ripping it off and fucking me hard. Tumi ki korba?' Her laugh was a dagger, her words a twisted turn-on. Ifti’s chest tightened with humiliation, but his cock betrayed him, hardening at the thought of her getting pounded by someone else.
He slammed the phone down, panting, sweating with rage and lust. 'Shala, Suha, tui amar hobi,' he muttered to himself. He was done being played. The next day, he begged her to meet, telling her to wear her favorite silver satin silk kameez with the matching salwar. She agreed, her tone flirty but distant over the phone. 'Acha, fine, Ifti. But don’t expect much, okay? Ami busy.' Her words were a challenge, and he was ready to take it.
When they finally met at a quiet café in Gulshan, Suha strutted in, the silver kameez hugging her body like a second skin, the silk salwar shimmering with every step. Her breasts looked fuller, her ass swaying with confidence. Ifti’s throat went dry, his eyes locked on her. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, a smirk playing on her lips. 'Ki dekhcho, Ifti? Never seen a girl before?' she teased, sipping her coffee.
'Tumi jano, Suha, I’ve seen too much of you. But not enough,' he shot back, his voice low, intense. 'Last night, with Rohan—ki shuru korcho? You think I’m some chhagol to just sit and watch?'
She laughed, leaning forward, her cleavage teasing him through the thin fabric. 'Arre, Ifti, relax. Rohan’s just a friend. But if you’re so jealous, kichu toh koro. Or are you just gonna cry about it?' Her eyes gleamed with mischief, daring him.
Ifti clenched his jaw, his hands itching to grab her. 'Tumi amar shathe khelcho, Suha. But I’m done playing. Ajke tui amar, and I’ll make sure you know it.'
Her smirk faltered for a split second, but she recovered, tossing her hair. 'Oh, really? Dekhi na, tui ki korte parosh. I’m not some easy catch, Ifti.'
He leaned closer, his voice a growl. 'I don’t want easy. I want you—wet, dripping, begging for me. And trust me, I’ll have you.' The air between them crackled, her breath hitching just slightly as his words sank in. Ifti knew this was it—the moment to push her over the edge, to take her somewhere private and show her who really owned her. His heart pounded, his body already aching for the explosive clash that was coming.
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