Gairika sat at her dining table, scrolling through her phone with one hand while the other absentmindedly twirled a strand of her long, dark hair. At twenty-five, she had everything going for her—a successful career at a marketing firm, an apartment in a decent neighborhood, and looks that turned heads wherever she went. Her colleagues often joked that she could have any man she wanted, yet here she was, single and increasingly frustrated by the lack of suitable marriage prospects. But Gairika wasn't the type to let her sexual needs go unfulfilled just because she hadn't found a husband. She had her ways of satisfying her urges, and tonight, she was simply hungry.
The pizza app on her phone made ordering effortless. A large pepperoni with extra cheese, a side of garlic bread, and a cold drink—her mouth watered just thinking about it. She confirmed the order without a second thought, only to have her heart sink moments later when a notification from her banking app appeared. Insufficient funds. Her account was short by five hundred rupees, and a quick search through her purse confirmed what she already suspected—no cash anywhere in the house.
"Damn it," she muttered, trying to cancel the order, but the app displayed an error message: order already in preparation, cannot be cancelled. Gairika paced her small living room, her mind racing through options. Ask a neighbor? Too embarrassing. Call a friend? None lived close enough to arrive in time. Her eyes drifted to the mirror on the wall, catching her own reflection—full lips, curved hips, smooth brown skin that seemed to glow under the afternoon light filtering through her windows.
A plan formed in her mind, half-formed and desperate but appealing in its simplicity. The delivery boy would be a man, and men were predictable. A little flirtation, perhaps an offer of something more... she had heard stories of women trading favors for services. A quick feet job, and she would have her pizza without any awkward explanations about bank balances. The thought made her smirk. She had given foot jobs before—it required minimal effort, and men were pathetically grateful for any attention from a woman like her.
She retreated to her bedroom and opened her wardrobe, fingers dancing across various fabrics until she found what she was looking for—a black saree with a thin gold border, the material light and slightly sheer. She draped it carefully, choosing to forgo the petticoat, letting the fabric cling to her curves without obstruction. The blouse she selected was cut low, revealing the swell of her breasts. She applied minimal makeup—kohl lining her eyes, a touch of lip gloss—and slipped on her gold anklets, the tiny bells chiming softly with each step. Her bare feet, with their painted toenails and smooth soles, completed the look. Perfect.
Forty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Rakesh Kumar checked the address on the receipt against the apartment number, shifting the pizza box to his left hand. At thirty-four, he had been delivering pizzas for six years—a job that barely covered the expenses of his wife and three children. His wife, heavyset and perpetually complaining, waited at home with their noisy kids in a cramped two-room apartment. He had long ago stopped expecting excitement in his life. The door opened, and Rakesh found himself staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in person.
Gairika leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting on her hip, the saree draped to expose a generous portion of her waist. Her navel peeked from beneath the fabric, a dark indentation against her flat stomach. "Pizza delivery?" she asked, her voice deliberately husky. "Come inside, please. I need to... get my wallet."
Rakesh stepped into the apartment, his eyes tracking her movements as she walked ahead of him. The bells on her anklets announced each step. She led him to the small living area, gesturing for him to place the pizza on the table. His eyes were drawn to her bare feet—the smooth heels, the delicate arches, the toes with their deep red polish.
"Actually," Gairika said, moving closer to him, "I have a small problem. My payment... it didn't go through. But I was hoping we could work something out." She reached out, her fingers brushing against his crotch, feeling the bulge that had already begun forming.
Rakesh went still. In all his years of deliveries, nothing like this had ever happened to him. He looked at Gairika—at her beautiful face, her inviting body, her seductive smile—and thought of his wife at home, complaining about the neighbors, the endless demands of children, the sheer boredom of his existence. This woman was offering him something he had almost forgotten existed—desire, excitement, the thrill of the forbidden.
"You're playing a dangerous game, ma'am," Rakesh said, his voice dropping an octave. Before Gairika could respond, he dropped the pizza box on the table, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her effortlessly. A small cry escaped her lips as her feet left the ground.
"Hey! What are you doing?" she exclaimed, genuine surprise in her voice. She had expected him to be flustered, maybe nervous—not this. This was a man taking charge, and it threw her off balance.
"You started this," Rakesh replied, carrying her down the short hallway. "Don't pretend you didn't want it." He kicked open the first door he saw—a bedroom, neat and feminine—and deposited Gairika onto the bed with controlled force.
Gairika's heart hammered in her chest. The situation had spun out of her control, and yet—a thrill shot through her that she hadn't anticipated. Rakesh stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark with intent, and slowly began removing his delivery uniform. His body was lean but muscular, the result of physical labor and long hours. When he pulled down his pants, his erection sprang free—thick, long, and veined.
"On your back," he commanded, and Gairika found herself complying without thought. He grabbed her ankles, pulling her feet toward his face. "Beautiful feet," he murmured, and then his tongue was on her soles, tracing the arch, licking a wet stripe from heel to toe.
Gairika gasped. The sensation was unlike anything she had experienced—wet heat on sensitive skin, his rough tongue leaving trails of saliva along her instep. He sucked her big toe into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and she felt an answering throb between her legs. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, but her body didn't care about her plans.
"You taste good," Rakesh said, releasing her toe with a soft pop. His hands moved to the pins holding her saree, pulling them free with practiced efficiency. The fabric fell away, revealing her body inch by inch. He made quick work of her blouse as well, and soon she lay before him in nothing but her anklets and the thin chain around her neck.
Gairika watched him through half-lidded eyes as he crawled over her, his cock heavy and hard against her thigh. She was wet now—her earlier apprehension transformed into unmistakable arousal. He positioned himself over her face, the head of his cock pressing against her lips.
"Open," he said. It was not a request.
Gairika parted her lips, and he pushed inside, filling her mouth with his thickness. The taste of him—salty, musky—overwhelmed her senses. He thrust forward, hitting the back of her throat, and she gagged, tears pricking at her eyes. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed her jaw, letting him use her mouth with increasing urgency. Saliva dripped from the corners of her lips as he fucked her face, his balls slapping against her chin with each thrust.
"That's it," Rakesh groaned, his hand tangling in her hair. "Take it all."
When he finally withdrew, Gairika gasped for air, her throat sore and her chin wet with spit. But before she could recover, Rakesh had flipped her onto her back again, spreading her legs wide. His fingers found her entrance, slick with her arousal, and he chuckled darkly.
"I knew you wanted this," he said. He positioned himself at her opening, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her tight channel. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her.
Gairika cried out, her back arching off the bed. He was big—bigger than anyone she'd been with—and the stretch bordered on painful. But as he began to move, setting a brutal pace, pain gave way to pleasure. Each thrust drove her into the mattress, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with her moans.
Rakesh grabbed her legs, pushing them toward her shoulders, folding her in half as he pounded into her. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes. His thumb found her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and Gairika shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves.
But Rakesh didn't stop. He continued his relentless assault, chasing his own release. When it finally came, he buried himself to the hilt, spurting hot cum deep inside her. Gairika felt each pulse, her walls clenching around him as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her body.
They lay there for a moment, both breathing heavily, before Rakesh pulled out, his cum leaking from her well-used pussy. He looked at her with satisfaction.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he said simply.
And he was. And the day after that. Within a month, Rakesh had filed for divorce, left his old life behind, and moved into Gairika's apartment. The pizza delivery job was forgotten, as was Gairika's career. She had found her purpose—on her knees, on her back, serving the man who had shown her what it truly meant to surrender control.