**Disclaimer:**
All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. This is a work of pure adult fiction intended for mature readers only.
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The moment I gave permission, Rohit removed my socks without wasting a second.
His hands returned to my bare feet, warmer now, more certain. He pressed his thumbs deep into the arches, working the sore muscles with a care that felt almost reverent. The relief was immediate. A soft breath left me. My eyes drifted shut on their own.
I had asked my own son to press my feet many times. Avi always needed to be told repeatedly, and even then he did it for only a few reluctant minutes. Rohit's touch was different—slow, focused, almost loving. The comparison made something twist quietly in my chest.
I didn't notice when my head tipped back against the chair.
Under the desk, Rohit was somewhere else entirely.
He lifted one of the discarded socks, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. The warm, intimate scent of my skin after a long night filled his lungs. His eyes nearly closed. Then, almost without thinking, he pressed the soft cotton against his tongue, tasting the faint salt that clung to the fabric, before carefully setting it aside. Only then did he return both hands to my feet.
He worked in silence, thumbs circling, fingers sliding along the sensitive skin of my soles. Every few moments he leaned closer, nose nearly brushing my skin, and drew in a long, quiet breath. To him it was not just a massage. It was worship. The woman he had watched from a distance for so long was allowing him to touch her—allowing him to breathe her in.
His face drifted nearer.
When he finally gathered the courage, he dragged the flat of his tongue in one slow stroke across the arch of my right foot.
He pulled back immediately, heart hammering, waiting for me to react.
I didn't.
My eyes were still closed. The pleasure of the pressure had pulled me under so completely that the first lick registered only as a warmer, wetter kind of relief.
Emboldened, Rohit leaned in again. This time he licked more deliberately, then pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the sole. When I still did not stop him, something inside him loosened. He brought both of my feet closer to his face and began to kiss and lick in earnest—slow, devoted strokes of his tongue, soft sucks at the pads of my toes, quiet breathing against wet skin.
He was lost in it.
When he finally closed his lips around my big toe and sucked, a soft, helpless sound slipped from my mouth.
"Aah…"
My eyes opened.
I looked down and froze.
Rohit had my toe in his mouth, eyes half-closed, tongue working slowly around it as if it were something precious. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the space under the desk. My toes, my feet—two of the most sensitive parts of my body—were being worshipped by my student.
Another soft moan escaped before I could stop it.
I tried to speak. My voice came out shaky, breathless.
"Rohit… w-what are you… doing…?"
He did not stop.
If anything, the sound of my voice seemed to encourage him. He sucked harder, licked deeper between my toes, dragged his tongue along the wet sole of my foot with open hunger. My attempts to quiet myself failed. Soft, broken sounds kept slipping past the hand I had pressed to my lips. The classroom was empty, but every small moan felt dangerously loud.
Heat was building low in my belly.
It had been years since my husband had touched me with any real desire. Since Avi was born, he had barely looked at me that way. My body had been starved for so long that even this—my student's mouth on my feet—was enough to make me ache.
My free hand drifted up without permission, cupping one full breast through the thin, transparent kurti. I squeezed gently, thumb brushing over the nipple that had already tightened beneath the black bra.
Rohit heard every soft sound I made. A dark, satisfied expression flickered across his face. He licked and sucked with greater intensity, as if my moans were permission and praise at the same time.
I was losing control of my breathing.
Then I heard footsteps in the corridor.
Fear cut through the haze instantly.
I shoved at Rohit with my heel. He froze. I yanked my feet back, frantically pulled the open edges of my kurti together, and dragged my dupatta across my chest just as a knock sounded on the classroom door.
"Kaun hai classroom mein?"
Ratna's voice. The school ayah.
My heart was still racing. Under the desk, Rohit remained completely still, one of my feet still loosely held in his hands, his lips still glistening.
I forced my voice to stay steady.
"Main hoon… Shalini Madam."
The door opened.
Ratna stepped inside.