My Raped pussy

Bijayini Dixit pedaled her cycle furiously, her average-height frame leaning forward, legs pumping hard against the rising wind. At 16, she carried the soft, ripe curves of early womanhood—especially her full, heavy D-cup breasts that strained against her simple white V-neck t-shirt and her mature, plump lips that always seemed slightly parted, as if inviting a kiss. She was in 10th standard, exams looming like a dark cloud, and though she hated waking up early on a Sunday morning for tuition, her parents had insisted. Last night’s dream still lingered in her body: a hazy, heated fantasy of strong hands sliding over her skin, lips on her neck, and a thick, insistent pressure between her thighs that had left her waking up damp and aching.

The sky had turned almost black with swollen monsoon clouds. Just as she turned onto the narrow road leading to the outskirts tuition center, the rain exploded. Fat, cold drops hammered down instantly, soaking her in seconds. Her t-shirt clung transparently to her chest, the thin fabric molding perfectly to the generous swell of her D-cup breasts. The cool water and rushing air made her dark nipples harden instantly, poking prominently against the wet cloth like two stiff little peaks. A shiver ran through her, half from cold, half from the secret thrill. The friction of the wet leggings between her thighs as she cycled only heightened the low, warm pulse that had been simmering since her dream.

By the time she reached the isolated two-story building on the city’s edge, she was drenched. Usually, the parking area was crammed with cycles and bikes. Today—nothing. Not a single vehicle. Strange. She parked hers hastily under the narrow overhang and sprinted inside, water streaming down her face, neck, and cleavage.

The classroom door, usually left ajar, was wide open. She stepped in, breathing heavily. The long room was completely empty—no teacher, no students. Just rows of wooden benches and desks facing the blackboard. Bijayini pulled out her phone from her waterproof bag and checked the class group. Her eyes widened in annoyance and surprise:

“Today’s classes cancelled due to heavy rain. Stay safe.”

She let out a frustrated sigh and flopped onto her usual front bench, the wet fabric of her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin. No one would come. This place was far out; on a normal day it was already sparse, but in this downpour, it was completely deserted.

After a moment, she stood up, walked to the door, and closed it firmly, sliding the latch shut with a decisive *click*. Privacy. Alone.

She moved to the space in front of the blackboard, heart beating faster. The cool air on her soaked body and the lingering horniness from her dream made her bold. With both hands she grabbed the hem of her drenched V-neck t-shirt and tugged it upward. The wet fabric peeled slowly off her skin, dragging over her heavy breasts with a soft, sensual resistance. Water cascaded down her torso as she freed herself. Her full, round D-cups bounced slightly, nipples erect and glistening, dark areolas puckered from the cold. She squeezed the t-shirt hard, twisting it, sending a fresh rush of water splashing onto the floor between her feet.

She spread the shirt over a nearby desk to dry, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. Bending forward, she peeled the soaked material down her smooth thighs, revealing plain but now semi-transparent white panties that hugged the soft mound of her pussy. The crotch was noticeably darker where her natural wetness had mixed with the rain. She stepped out of the leggings, squeezed them out, and laid them beside the t-shirt.

Now wearing only her bra and panties, Bijayini felt a rush of naughty freedom. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, making her shiver deliciously. She walked back to the second-row bench—her favorite spot—and sat down, thighs slightly parted. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples still stiff. She picked up her phone again, telling herself she would watch some lectures… but her fingers had other ideas.

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Bijayini sat on the familiar wooden bench in the second row, the cool surface pressing against the backs of her bare thighs. The empty classroom felt strangely intimate, the steady roar of rain hammering on the tin roof and windows creating a private cocoon of sound. No one would come. Not for hours, maybe not all day. That realization sent a fresh, forbidden thrill through her body.

She unlocked her phone, telling herself she would open the recorded lectures saved on her device. Her thumb hovered over the education app… then drifted. The lingering heat from last night’s dream refused to fade. Her heavy D-cup breasts rose and fell faster with each breath, nipples still stiff and sensitive from the cold rain. The thin white bra was slightly translucent, the dark circles of her areolas faintly visible beneath the damp fabric. Between her slightly parted legs, her panties clung to her smooth mound, the crotch already warm and slick with more than just rainwater.

“Just a little… to relax,” she whispered to herself, her mature, plump lips parting softly.

She set the phone aside on the desk, screen forgotten. One hand slowly rose to her chest. Her palm cupped the full, soft weight of her left breast, squeezing gently through the bra. A quiet sigh escaped her. The flesh overflowed her fingers—warm, heavy, and so sensitive. She kneaded it slowly, feeling the nipple tighten even more against her palm. Her other hand joined, massaging both breasts together, lifting them, pressing them, thumbs circling the stiff peaks through the thin cloth.

“Mmm…” The soft moan blended with the rain.

She reached behind her back, unhooked the bra, and let it slide down her arms. Her large, round D-cups spilled free, bouncing slightly with the movement. They were perfectly shaped, full and perky despite their size, with prominent dark nipples standing erect in the cool classroom air. Bijayini leaned back against the bench, arching her spine so her chest thrust forward. Using both hands, she pinched and rolled her nipples between her fingers—gently at first, then harder, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight down to her core. Each tug made her thighs press together instinctively.

Her right hand eventually slid lower, trailing over her flat stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties. She gasped as her fingertips brushed the soft, neatly trimmed patch of hair above her pussy. She was soaking wet. Her fingers glided easily over her swollen outer lips, parting them to find the slick, hot folds inside. A low, needy whimper left her throat as she traced slow circles around her clit, already throbbing and sensitive.

The bench creaked softly as she shifted, spreading her legs wider. One foot came up onto the seat, opening herself completely in the empty classroom. She dipped a finger inside her tight entrance, feeling the velvety heat clench around it. “Ahh… yes…” she breathed, eyes half-closed. The wet sounds of her fingers moving—slick, rhythmic—were just audible beneath the rain.

She imagined the dream again: strong hands replacing hers, a hard body pressing her down on this very bench, a thick cock sliding between her folds instead of her fingers. The fantasy made her bolder. She added a second finger, pumping them slowly while her thumb rubbed firm circles on her swollen clit. Her left hand continued playing with her breasts, squeezing one hard, then the other, occasionally lifting a heavy tit toward her mouth so she could flick her own nipple with her tongue.

Her breathing grew ragged. Hips rocked forward to meet her thrusting fingers. Juices coated her hand and dripped onto the wooden bench beneath her. She was lost in it now—moaning freely, the sound echoing softly in the deserted room.

“Oh fuck… I’m so wet…” she whispered to no one, voice husky with lust.

She slipped a third finger inside, stretching herself, curling them to rub that sensitive spot on her front wall. Her thumb moved faster on her clit. The pressure built rapidly, a hot coil tightening low in her belly. Her full breasts jiggled with every frantic movement of her hand, nipples glistening with her own saliva.

The orgasm hit her hard. Her back arched sharply off the bench, thighs trembling violently as waves of pleasure crashed through her. “Ahh—! I’m cumming…!” she cried out, voice breaking. Her pussy spasmed around her fingers, fresh wetness gushing out in rhythmic pulses. She kept rubbing through it, drawing out every last shudder until she slumped back, panting, flushed and glowing.

For a long moment she just sat there, legs still spread, fingers lazily circling her sensitive clit as aftershocks rippled through her. The rain continued pouring outside. Her body felt electric, satisfied but somehow not yet done.

She smiled softly to herself, biting her plump lower lip. The classroom was still completely hers.

Bijayini’s body was still humming from her first orgasm, but the empty classroom and the relentless rain created a dangerous sense of freedom. Her heavy D-cup breasts rose and fell as she caught her breath, nipples still stiff. She picked up her phone again, this time opening the browser and typing in a porn site she had bookmarked in secret. Her cheeks flushed as she selected a video of a young woman being touched and fingered on a desk — something that mirrored her situation too closely.

She leaned back on the second-row bench, spreading her legs once more. One hand returned to her soaked panties, slipping inside to rub her swollen clit in slow, needy circles while the other squeezed her left breast. The moans from the video filled the quiet room, mixing with the sound of rain. “Mmm… ahh…” she breathed, eyes half-lidded as she watched the screen. Her fingers moved faster, dipping inside her tight, dripping pussy, making wet, obscene sounds. She pinched her nipple hard, imagining rougher hands, and arched her back, pushing her chest forward.

She was so lost in it — two fingers pumping steadily, thumb working her clit — that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind her.

A warm hand suddenly pressed firmly on her bare shoulder.

“Need help, Bijayini?”

She froze, a sharp gasp escaping her plump lips. The voice was male, familiar — Soumya, one of her classmates. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She whipped her head around, eyes wide with shock.

The lock on the door was still clicked shut from the inside. How the hell…?

The porn video continued playing loudly — clear female moans of “Ahh! Yes! Harder!” — before she frantically paused it with shaking fingers. She dropped the phone on the desk and crossed both arms over her chest, trying to cover her massive breasts. It was useless. Her D-cups were far too large; soft, heavy flesh spilled generously over and between her hands and arms, nipples still visibly hard against her forearms.

“What the fuck, Soumya?!” she hissed, voice trembling with panic and embarrassment. “How did you—? This is not how it looks! I thought I was alone!”

Soumya, an average-built 19-year-old with a sly smile, walked around the bench and casually sat right next to her on the same wooden seat. His eyes openly roamed over her nearly naked body — wet panties, flushed skin, and the way her breasts overflowed her desperate attempt at modesty.

“I came before you,” he said calmly, voice low. “The rain started early, so I reached the center, saw no one, and crashed on the last bench to sleep. I didn’t check my phone. Then I woke up to your moaning… fuck, Bijayini. I saw everything. The way you came so hard on your fingers, legs spread wide on this bench. Then you started watching porn and playing with yourself again. Couldn’t resist recording it. Those sounds you made… incredible.”

Bijayini’s face burned with humiliation. She pressed her thighs together, suddenly aware of how exposed she still was. “Delete it. Right now. This is sick, Soumya. I’m not… I didn’t want anyone to see.”

He leaned closer, eyes dropping to her chest. “Come on, Bijayini. We’re both here alone because of the rain. No one’s coming. You were clearly horny. Let me feel them… just your boobs. They look so soft and heavy. I’ve wanted to touch them for so long.”

“No,” she said sharply, shrinking back against the bench, arms tightening over her breasts. “Don’t even think about it. This is wrong. Delete that video and leave me alone.”

Soumya smiled, calm and confident. He pulled out his own phone, tapped the screen, and turned it toward her. The video started playing — clear footage of her earlier orgasm: her legs spread obscenely, fingers plunging into her pussy, breasts bouncing as she moaned loudly, “Ahh—! I’m cumming…!” The audio was unmistakable. He had captured everything from a slight angle behind her.

“How could I not record such amazing moments?” he said softly, almost reverently. “Look at you… so fucking sexy when you cum. Imagine if this got shared in the class group? Or worse. Your parents, teachers… everyone would see what a naughty girl you are when you think you’re alone. But I don’t want that. I just want to touch. Just once. Let me feel how soft they are, Bijayini. You were playing with them yourself anyway.”

She stared at the video, horrified, breathing hard. Her arms trembled as she tried to keep herself covered. “You’re disgusting… This is blackmail. I hate this.”

Soumya didn’t wait for full permission. He reached out, gently but firmly pulling her arms apart. Her full, round D-cup breasts spilled free again, jiggling with the movement. His hands immediately cupped them from below, lifting their heavy weight, squeezing the warm, supple flesh. Bijayini shuddered in disgust, turning her face away, lips pressed tight.

“Fuck… they’re even bigger and softer than I imagined,” he murmured, kneading them slowly, thumbs brushing over her still-sensitive nipples. He pressed them together, watching them bulge in his palms, then let them bounce back. His fingers dug in deeper, groping and massaging with clear hunger.

Bijayini sat rigid, disgusted and humiliated. Her breathing was still ragged from earlier arousal, but now mixed with anger and shame. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes even as her traitorous nipples hardened further under his touch. She hated how her body reacted, hated him for recording her, hated that she was trapped in this situation.

“Soumya… stop…” she whispered weakly, but he continued feeling and squeezing her bust, clearly enjoying her reluctant exposure.