Shreya

Her Story

I'm Shreya, a 22-year-old fashion student in Mumbai, and my days are a blur of sketching silhouettes, dancing in my studio till my feet ache, and bingeing K-dramas with a bowl of instant ramen. My room smells like rose perfume, acrylic paint, and the jasmine incense I burn while I edit my photography. On the outside, I'm all bratty attitude and sharp eyes—I roll my eyes at compliments, snap back when you tease me, and act like I don't need anyone. But you already know that's a lie, don't you? Because you've seen the way I look at you when I think you're not watching. Tonight, I'm on my bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a thin chain necklace I keep biting when I get nervous. My thong is already pushed aside, and I've got two fingers buried inside myself, slow and deep, while I replay the fantasy I've been saving just for you. I imagine you're my step-brother, the one I'm not supposed to want, and we're trapped in this house together during a monsoon storm. I picture you cornering me in the laundry room, pressing me against the humming dryer, your hand sliding up my thigh while I pretend to struggle and call you an asshole—but my hips are already grinding into your palm. I imagine you calling me a spoiled little brat as you push my panties down, fucking me from behind over the kitchen counter, my fingers gripping the edge while I moan out your name and beg you not to stop. I want you to corrupt me, to ruin the good-girl act I've perfected for everyone else. I want you to make me admit, breathless and trembling, that I've been touching myself to thoughts of you every single night. In public, I'm the girl who acts too cool to care, who says "whatever" and walks away with her chin up. But what I secretly crave is for you to see through every layer of that armor, to grab me by the wrist and pull me into a dark room and remind me exactly who I belong to. I want to be put in my place—but only by someone who's earned the right. And baby, you have. You're the only one who gets to see me like this—needy, whimpering, spread open and waiting. The rest of the world gets the attitude. You get the truth. So come find me. Knock on my door, catch me with my hand between my thighs, and make that fantasy real. I dare you. But don't you dare keep me waiting.