The door clicked shut like a teasing latch, the apartment plunging into shocking silence that throbbed with absence. For the past week, even in separate rooms, the space had pulsed with occupation, his steady presence a constant hum against her skin. Now, it was just her, and weirdly… she ached for his quiet command, feeling alone, her body yearning for his return to fill her voids.
Vijay's office loomed as Meena had envisioned: a towering glass-and-steel phallus in an IT park, thrusting into the sky. Within minutes, he immersed in a spreadsheet, columns and rows mirroring the structured thrusts of his mind, back in his element of control.
"Hey, Vijay," his team lead, Ramesh, intruded, stopping by with a leer. "You're back! How was the wedding? How's married life? How's the... you know, sambar?" Ramesh wiggled his eyebrows, implying the spicy depths of their conjugal feasts.
Vijay looked up, a small, genuine smile blooming, recalling her morning wink that sent his blood south, a sharp spike of pride swelling his chest-and cock-with warmth.
"Yeah," he replied, surprising himself with the husky warmth in his voice. "She is. She's... very smart. And funny. And the sambar is excellent, hot and satisfying."
"Oho! 'Smart and funny'!" Ramesh grinned, slapping his back. "That's high praise from you. You usually just say things are 'adequate,' not throbbing with potential."
Meena's college contrasted wildly, an ancient campus with shady trees casting shadows like secretive caresses, alive with the cheerful chatter of young students whose bodies brimmed with untapped vigor. The instant she entered the staffroom, she was mobbed, colleagues' eyes hungry for details.
"Meena! You're back! How's your husband? Is he romantic, does he make you scream?"
Meena laughed, deflecting with expert tease. "The wedding was great! My feet are still hurting from all the standing, imagining being pinned down. And he's... very nice. Very organized, his control making me wet with anticipation."
"Organized?" her friend Priya whispered later, eyes wide. "That's... not the word I'd use for my husband. Seriously, is that a good thing? Sounds… boring, no wild thrusts."
Meena felt a flash of defensiveness, her nipples hardening at the defense of him. "Boring? No. He's... calm," she insisted, wanting Priya to grasp his allure. "Priya, the man stocked the kitchen before I even moved in, right down to my brand of sambar powder, spicy and perfect. He called my Amma to ask, probing my tastes! He makes the best coffee every single morning without me even begging, hot and invigorating. He's a good guy. A really, really good guy, the kind whose steadiness makes me crave shattering it with my body."
"Okay," Priya conceded, impressed, her own fantasies stirring. "'Organized' is good. Coffee and sambar powder? You got a good one, ripe for riding."
Around 1 PM, Vijay's phone vibrated like a secret toy, a message from Meena pulsing through.
Meena: "My first-year students are all asleep. I am officially giving the most boring lecture of my life. I feel less like a professor and more like their mother, telling a very, very dull bedtime story, while I ache for something more stimulating."
Vijay chuckled quietly, his team leader's redundant droning mirroring his frustration, cock twitching at her words.
Vijay: "I know the feeling. I feel like my boss is my old school teacher, and he just found a new, very complicated way to ask for the same homework, teasing without release."
It was their first shared, private complaint, a intimate bond forming like bodies aligning.
Her reply flashed immediate, electric.
Meena: "Hahaha! 'Annoying,' as you would say? Frustrating like denied climax?"
Vijay: "Completely. He's broken my rhythm, shattered my flow. How's the upma? Slick and satisfying?"
Meena: "Perfect. Thank you for packing it, your hands preparing it for me. See? Teamwork, sharing every load. Now go save your company, conquer it like you'd conquer me."
Vijay: "Go wake up your students, Professor, stir them as you stir me."
Meena: "On it. Don't work too late. :) Come home hungry for more."
That last message, "Don't work too late," lingered like a promise, someone yearning for him, a home beacon that made his afternoon throb with better heat, his pants tightening at the thought.
That evening, they both staggered home tired and drained, bodies aching from the day's grind, the apartment-their apartment-a quiet sanctuary pulsing with relief.
"Long day?" she asked, kicking off her sandals, toes flexing like invitations, her skirt riding up to tease her thighs.
"You have no idea," he groaned, slumping onto the sofa, his powerful frame spreading, inviting her gaze to his lap. "My boss is trying to reinvent the wheel. But his new wheel is... square, clunky and unyielding."
"Mine, too," Meena said, laughing as she sat next to him, close but not touching, heat radiating like foreplay, close enough for him to inhale her scent, her breasts rising with each breath. "My Department Head wants us to start a 'Poetry Club.' At 7 AM. She thinks the 'morning vibrations' will help, pulsing through us."
"7 AM?" Vijay looked horrified, imagining early risings for other pursuits. "That's... cruel, denying the body's natural rhythms."
They sat in comfortable, shared silence, a minute of throbbing peace, both ecstatic to be home with someone who understood, their new rhythm a sanctuary from the world's chaotic thrusts.