I’m Kajal, an 18-year-old student living in a bustling neighborhood of Kolkata, where the humid air clings to your skin and secrets hide behind every shuttered window. I’d just finished my 12th-grade exams, but math was my weakness, so my parents hired a private tutor—Mr. Sanjay Roy, or Sir, as I called him. He was 35, tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and a quiet intensity that made my stomach flutter every time he walked into our cramped study room. His buttoned-up shirts and stern demeanor screamed authority, but his eyes—those piercing, knowing eyes—told a different story. Last night, he fucked my virgin pussy, breaking me open in a way I never imagined, and now I’m hooked on the memory of his touch.
It started innocently enough. Tuition was every evening, just the two of us at the wooden table in my room, textbooks spread out, the fan whirring overhead. I’d wear my usual—tight kurtis and leggings that hugged my budding curves, my long braid swinging as I leaned over problems I pretended not to understand. Sir would sit close, his knee brushing mine, his voice low as he explained equations. I’d catch him staring—my lips, my chest, the way my kurti stretched over my untouched breasts—and I’d blush, my virgin body tingling under his gaze. He never crossed the line, not until yesterday, when everything changed.
My parents were out for a wedding, leaving the house empty. It was a muggy evening, the sky threatening rain, and I’d worn a thin white kurti, no bra, my nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Sir arrived on time, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, a sheen of sweat on his neck. We sat down, but the air felt different—thicker, charged. “Kajal, you’re distracted today,” he said, his voice firm but laced with something darker. I bit my lip, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I need a different kind of lesson, Sir,” I murmured, my heart pounding as the words slipped out.
He froze, his pen dropping to the table. Then, slowly, a smirk curled his lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned, but he leaned closer, his hand resting on my thigh, firm and warm through my leggings. My breath hitched, but I didn’t pull away—I couldn’t. “Show me,” I whispered, and that was it—he snapped. His lips crashed into mine, rough and urgent, his tongue forcing its way in, tasting me with a hunger that made me dizzy. I kissed him back, clumsy but eager, my hands gripping his shirt as he pulled me onto his lap, my legs straddling him.
“Fuck, Kajal, you’re too tempting,” he growled against my mouth, his hands sliding under my kurti, finding my bare skin. He yanked the fabric up and off, tossing it aside, leaving my breasts exposed—small but firm, my nipples hard and aching. He groaned, cupping them, squeezing as his thumbs flicked the peaks, sending jolts of pleasure through me. “Sir… oh God,” I moaned, my head tipping back as he sucked one into his mouth, his teeth grazing, his tongue swirling until I was whimpering, my virgin pussy soaking my leggings.
He didn’t stop there. His hands moved fast—tugging my leggings down, taking my panties with them, leaving me naked on his lap, my thighs trembling. “Look at you,” he muttered, spreading my legs wide, his fingers brushing my untouched slit, slick with my arousal. “So fucking innocent… and so wet.” He slid a finger inside me, slow at first, stretching my tight walls, and I gasped, the sensation foreign but electric. “Sir… it’s too much,” I whimpered, but he added another, pumping deeper, his thumb circling my clit until I was rocking against him, my moans filling the room.
“You’re ready for me,” he rasped, standing to lift me onto the table, my books shoved aside, pages crumpling beneath me. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a toned chest dusted with hair, then dropped his pants, his cock springing free—thick, hard, intimidating for my virgin eyes. I stared, my pussy clenching with a mix of fear and want. He stroked himself, watching me squirm, then stepped between my thighs, rubbing the tip against my entrance, teasing my swollen lips. “Tell me you want it, Kajal,” he demanded, his voice rough. “I want it, Sir… please,” I begged, and he thrust into me, breaking my virginity in one deep, searing stroke.
I screamed, the pain sharp but fading fast into a fullness that overwhelmed me, my pussy stretching around him as he held still, letting me adjust. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips, his eyes locked on where we joined. Then he started moving—slow at first, each thrust rocking my body against the table, my breasts bouncing, my braid unraveling. “Sir… it’s so good,” I moaned, my legs wrapping around him, urging him deeper. He growled, picking up the pace, his cock slamming into me, the table creaking under his force, my cries echoing off the walls.
He grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head, his mouth on my neck, sucking and biting as he fucked me harder, his hips relentless. “You’re mine now, Kajal,” he rasped, his free hand sliding to my clit, rubbing fast, driving me wild. Pleasure built fast, my virgin walls clenching around him, and I came—hard, my body shaking, my juices soaking his cock as I screamed his name. “Good girl,” he grunted, but he didn’t stop—flipped me over, bending me over the table, my ass in the air, my cheek pressed into the wood.
“More,” he muttered, smacking my ass hard, the sting making me moan, then entering me from behind, deeper this time, hitting spots that made me see stars. “Sir… oh fuck… don’t stop,” I sobbed, my hands clawing at the table, my body rocking with every thrust. He gripped my hips, pounding me like a man possessed, his cock stretching me, filling me, the sound of our bodies slapping together drowning out the rain that had started outside. “You’re better than I dreamed,” he groaned, his hand reaching around to pinch my nipples, twisting them until I whimpered, the mix of pain and pleasure pushing me over the edge again.
I came a second time, my pussy spasming around him, my cries loud and desperate, and he couldn’t hold back—his thrusts grew erratic, his cock swelling inside me. “Fuck, Kajal… I’m cumming,” he roared, and with one final, brutal thrust, he exploded, his hot release flooding me, spilling deep as he held me against him. My body shuddered, a third orgasm ripping through me, my virgin pussy milking him dry, my juices mixing with his on the table.
He collapsed over me, his chest heaving against my back, our sweat slick on the wood. Slowly, he pulled out, his cum dripping down my thighs, pooling beneath me. He turned me to face him, kissing me softer now, his lips lingering on mine. “You’re fucking perfect,” he panted, his hands cupping my face. I smiled, still trembling, my body buzzing from the loss of my virginity. “So are you, Sir,” I whispered, tasting him on my tongue.
We dressed in a haze, my kurti wrinkled, my leggings stained, the room reeking of sex. He smirked as he buttoned his shirt. “Tomorrow’s lesson will be… intense,” he said, and I nodded, my pussy still throbbing, already craving him again. As he left, the rain pounding outside, I knew this was just the start—my tuition teacher had fucked my virgin pussy, and I’d let him do it again, every chance I got.