His Plaything : From Senior To Slave Getting ready

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Ravi’s mind racing through the implications of Vivek’s demand.

Despite the fear that had gripped him the previous night, he found himself oddly anticipating the evening’s events.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of powerlessness that had turned into something else—a thrill that made his pulse race and his cock throb.

Finally, the clock struck nine, and Ravi steeled himself for the evening ahead. He’d spent the afternoon preparing, cleaning himself thoroughly with an enema, his mind swirling with a mix of dread and excitement.

The idea of being used by Vivek again sent a shiver down his spine, but it also filled him with a perverse desire to feel a man’s cock inside him again.

He stepped into the bathroom, his heart racing as he scrubbed himself clean.

The scent of jasmine filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of the moisturizer he applied to his soft skin.

As he gazed at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He picked out a pair of blue lacy panties and matching lingerie, the most expensive items in his secret collection.

The fabric felt decadent against his skin, the lace teasing his cock, which was already beginning to swell at the thought of what lay ahead.

With trembling hands, Ravi filled the cups of his bra with the breast forms, feeling the weight of them shift against his chest.

He took a deep breath, watching his reflection as he pulled on the deep neckline blouse, his newly formed cleavage on full display. The petticoat rustled as he stepped into it, the sound a siren’s call to his inner Urmila.

He felt the fabric hug his waist, emphasizing the feminine curves that had been hidden away for so long.

The sari was next—his hands moved with surprising grace as he draped the vibrant blue fabric around his body.

He took his time, enjoying the sensation of the soft material against his skin. His fingers trembled as he secured the pleats, the anticipation of the evening’s events growing with each fold and tuck.

He applied his makeup meticulously, his eyes transforming into pools of liquid seduction, fringed by thick, dark lashes. His glossy lips pouted in the mirror, a silent promise of the night to come.

He slid the anklets onto his feet, the delicate chime of the bells sending a shiver up his spine. The bangles slipped onto his wrists, jingling softly as he moved his arms.

He fastened the jhumka to his ears, the heavy pieces swaying with every step he took. The mangtika rested between his breasts, drawing attention to his now-prominent cleavage.

Ravi stared at his reflection, his heart racing as he searched for any trace of the corporate worker he’d been only hours ago. But all he saw was Urmila, the seductress he’d become.

He reached up to cup the soft mounds of his breasts, his nipples hardening under his touch. The feeling was foreign, yet exhilarating—like a secret that only he knew.

The mirror reflected Urmila, not Ravi—a creature of the night, a slut dressed to tantalize. The jhumka swayed with every movement, casting glittering shadows across his now-flushed cheeks.

His eyes were dark with a hunger that was no longer hidden, and the mangtika nestled between his breasts served as a beacon of his willingness.

With a final check of his makeup, Ravi grabbed his purse, tucking a small bottle of lube inside.

The act was almost a declaration of his intentions for the night, a silent surrender to the desires he’d long kept buried.

He slipped his feet into the high heels, feeling the unfamiliar pressure against his arches as he balanced precariously. Each step was a dance, a seductive tease that whispered of his availability to the world.

The rain had stopped, leaving the streets gleaming with the neon lights of the night.

Ravi stepped out of the building, the cool breeze kissing his exposed skin, sending goosebumps across his arms.

The dampness in the air only heightened his senses, making him acutely aware of every sound, every scent.

He walked down the sidewalk, his hips swaying with an exaggerated swagger that screamed “fuck me.”