“An untamed whisper in prose — heat, hunger, and her in a pink saree.”
Part-1 : TABLE WHISPERS
I wanna fuck you right over this table right now,” I whispered, low and firm... not like a question, but like a promise.
Her lips parted, that pink saree stretching ever so slightly over her breath, and her shy smile wasn’t modest it was molten.
The steam from her coffee had nothing on the heat in her eyes. Her fingers gripped the cup tighter, but her thighs? They squeezed just once, like she knew what was coming. Like she wanted to be devoured.
I didn’t wait. My hands found her waist across the wood, her pulse was louder than her words ever could be.
"Say nothing now," I whispered, "just let me make the silence sinful."
Part-2 : UNRAVELING PINK, ONE FOLD AT A TIME
Her saree didn’t resist me, it surrendered. The organza slid like water off fire, her blouse undone like it was begging to be forgotten. I bent her gently across the table,
not rushed, not rough but like I was about to rewrite every nerve ending she had. She looked over her shoulder, breath catching, lips trembling and I saw it in her eyes the plea.
Not for mercy but for the MADNESS.
"You're not here for coffee anymore, are you?" I growled,my fingers pressing into her hips. "You're here to be remembered."
Part-3 : HER SILENCE, MY PERMISSION
I leaned over her back, my breath chasing goosebumps across her shoulder.
“You can moan here,” I whispered, voice low enough to melt modesty.
"No one’s around. Just us. Just this."
Her hips shifted aching to press back, to feel more.My palm slid down her spine, my lips brushed her nape. And then I whispered her name not like a lover, but like a spell.
She gasped.That sound? It wasn’t from pain. It was from finally being seen.Touched and Owned.
Every fold of her saree became part of my rhythm a map I’d travel again and again
until she forgot what being untouched ever felt like.
Part 4: WET HEAT & WICKED INTENTIONS
Her thighs trembled as I pressed against her wetness soaking her panties, heat radiating like it had a voice.She tried to stay composed… she failed beautifully.I bit her shoulder lightly, you were made to be taken slowly like this.
I breathed, to be opened like a letter I’d read with my tongue. Her hands clutched the edge of the table,nails dragging across the wood as my fingers found her folds dripping, needy, already begging for the rest of me.“I told you.”
I whispered, I’m not done until this table forgets it was made of wood—and remembers how it felt to hear you come undone.
Part 5: COFFEE FORGETTEN, SKIN REMEMBERED
The table creaked in rhythm. My name spilled from her lips between half-broken gasps,not loud just honest. Her saree bunched at her waist, her curves blooming beneath my hands, and every slow grind of my hips carved heat into her spine.
You like it when I ruin silence like this? I asked against her ear, my voice more breath than sound. She couldn’t answer but her body spoke instead arched, open, dripping. She was no longer seated on a riverbank cafe, she was the storm flooding it.
Part 6: HER UNDOING, MY AFTERTASTE
She shattered around me. Not like glass, but like thunder loud in her breath, wild in her moans, trembling in her core.
Her hands, once elegant on the cup, now shook with the memory of my fingers.
I didn’t pull away, I kissed her shoulder, her neck, her lips slow, as if tasting the afterglow.
You’re mine now, pink saree and all, I whispered, and she laughed softly… still panting.
The steam from the untouched coffee still rose beside us...... but the real heat? It dripped down her thigh and whispered her story across wood.
As I can't post it outside, posting here haha.....
Part-1 : TABLE WHISPERS
I wanna fuck you right over this table right now,” I whispered, low and firm... not like a question, but like a promise.
Her lips parted, that pink saree stretching ever so slightly over her breath, and her shy smile wasn’t modest it was molten.
The steam from her coffee had nothing on the heat in her eyes. Her fingers gripped the cup tighter, but her thighs? They squeezed just once, like she knew what was coming. Like she wanted to be devoured.
I didn’t wait. My hands found her waist across the wood, her pulse was louder than her words ever could be.
"Say nothing now," I whispered, "just let me make the silence sinful."
Part-2 : UNRAVELING PINK, ONE FOLD AT A TIME
Her saree didn’t resist me, it surrendered. The organza slid like water off fire, her blouse undone like it was begging to be forgotten. I bent her gently across the table,
not rushed, not rough but like I was about to rewrite every nerve ending she had. She looked over her shoulder, breath catching, lips trembling and I saw it in her eyes the plea.
Not for mercy but for the MADNESS.
"You're not here for coffee anymore, are you?" I growled,my fingers pressing into her hips. "You're here to be remembered."
Part-3 : HER SILENCE, MY PERMISSION
I leaned over her back, my breath chasing goosebumps across her shoulder.
“You can moan here,” I whispered, voice low enough to melt modesty.
"No one’s around. Just us. Just this."
Her hips shifted aching to press back, to feel more.My palm slid down her spine, my lips brushed her nape. And then I whispered her name not like a lover, but like a spell.
She gasped.That sound? It wasn’t from pain. It was from finally being seen.Touched and Owned.
Every fold of her saree became part of my rhythm a map I’d travel again and again
until she forgot what being untouched ever felt like.
Part 4: WET HEAT & WICKED INTENTIONS
Her thighs trembled as I pressed against her wetness soaking her panties, heat radiating like it had a voice.She tried to stay composed… she failed beautifully.I bit her shoulder lightly, you were made to be taken slowly like this.
I breathed, to be opened like a letter I’d read with my tongue. Her hands clutched the edge of the table,nails dragging across the wood as my fingers found her folds dripping, needy, already begging for the rest of me.“I told you.”
I whispered, I’m not done until this table forgets it was made of wood—and remembers how it felt to hear you come undone.
Part 5: COFFEE FORGETTEN, SKIN REMEMBERED
The table creaked in rhythm. My name spilled from her lips between half-broken gasps,not loud just honest. Her saree bunched at her waist, her curves blooming beneath my hands, and every slow grind of my hips carved heat into her spine.
You like it when I ruin silence like this? I asked against her ear, my voice more breath than sound. She couldn’t answer but her body spoke instead arched, open, dripping. She was no longer seated on a riverbank cafe, she was the storm flooding it.
Part 6: HER UNDOING, MY AFTERTASTE
She shattered around me. Not like glass, but like thunder loud in her breath, wild in her moans, trembling in her core.
Her hands, once elegant on the cup, now shook with the memory of my fingers.
I didn’t pull away, I kissed her shoulder, her neck, her lips slow, as if tasting the afterglow.
You’re mine now, pink saree and all, I whispered, and she laughed softly… still panting.
The steam from the untouched coffee still rose beside us...... but the real heat? It dripped down her thigh and whispered her story across wood.
As I can't post it outside, posting here haha.....
