Author's POV

"F*ck!"

The scene in the posh office cabin of the Thakur Emporium was fraught with tension as a piercing scream shattered the normally serene atmosphere. Despite the walls being soundproofed, the sheer intensity of the outburst managed to pierce through, sending shivers down the spines of the staff. Instantly, an air of seriousness descended upon the usually bustling workspace.

In the aftermath of the scream, the usual chatter that filled the emporium during work hours ceased abruptly. Instead, an eerie silence enveloped all the office rooms, broken only by the soft hum of machinery and the occasional shuffle of papers. Every employee was now laser-focused on their tasks, their attention unwavering as they dared not incur the wrath of the young Thakur.

Yashvardhan Thakur, the scion of the prestigious family and son of the state's ex-chief minister, was infamous for his volatile temper. A chain smoker, a frequent consumer of alcohol, and a patron of brothels, he commanded fear and respect in equal measure. Merely locking eyes with him for a moment was enough to send shivers down the spine of even the most seasoned employee, with the threat of his anger looming like a dark cloud over the entire establishment.

INSIDE THE CABIN

Yashvardhan Thakur cut an imposing figure with his terrifying appearance. His long, wavy chestnut hair cascading around his shoulders was tied into a semi- ponytail, reminiscent of the kings of ancient times with an unmistakable air of darkness about him.

Yashvardhan Thakur's normally piercing grey eyes were now tightly shut, veiling whatever dark intensity lay within them. His head was cradled in his bulky palms, supported by elbows resting on his knees as he sat upon his grandiose armchair. His knuckles turned white with tension, as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions swirling within him. Despite his imposing frame, his muscular physique heaved with each breath, the tension in his body perceivable.

The fabric of his white shirt strained against his enormous biceps, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the sinewy strength beneath. His chest rose and fell with each deep inhale, the power within him seemingly contained yet ready to erupt at any moment. As he clutched his head, a prominent vein pulsated on his forehead, mirroring the ones that bulged across his forearms- a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within him.

His office cabin stood as a testament to the inner turmoil raging within him. Papers and files lay scattered haphazardly across the desk and floor, a chaotic mosaic of disarray. The normally pristine space was now a battleground of frustration, each broken object a casualty of his simmering anger.

But what was the reason for his sudden uncontrollable outburst, leaving him shattered and feeling as if he had no control over anything happening in his life?

Here's a painful truth: he truly had no control. Every aspect of his existence seemed dictated by forces beyond his influence, most notably by his overbearing mother, who made decisions on his behalf without regard for his wishes or desires.

In this instance, she had once again asserted her authority over his life by arranging his marriage to the daughter of a priest, a stranger about whom Yashvardhan knew nothing. The news of this arranged marriage struck him like a blow, exacerbating the feeling of helplessness that had been building within him for years. It was yet another reminder of his lack of autonomy, his existence reduced to a mere pawn in his mother's relentless pursuit of social status and familial expectations.

His's frustration brewed like a storm within him, a tempest of conflicting emotions he dared not voice. His mother, Sadhna Thakur, held a grip on his life amid his intimidating aura that felt suffocating, her influence seeping into his very thoughts whenever her eyes met his. There was a peculiar power in her gaze, an ability to sway his decisions and bend his will to her own desires.

"Betaji, your alliance has been fixed with Acharya Pandit's daughter. The ceremony will be next week," his mother announced, her hands gently cupping his cheeks as she sought to meet his gaze.

And he nodded. Just nodded.

She left him, not before stroking his hair once with a sly smile playing on her lips.

As he made his way to his office, realization struck him like a bolt from the blue.

I'm getting married. For the second time!

Yet once again, Yashvardhan found himself rendered speechless in the presence of his mother, his tongue betraying him as it had so many times before. The memory of her touch lingered like a ghost, haunting him with its paradoxical blend of gentleness and suffocation.

He couldn't shake the sensation of her hands cupping his cheeks, gentle yet suffocating, her fingers tracing invisible lines upon his skin as if mapping out the depths of his soul. Her voice, soft yet commanding, seemed to penetrate his very being, resonating in the caverns of his mind with an eerie familiarity.

It was as though she possessed the ability to peer directly into his thoughts, unraveling the tangled web of his innermost fears and desires with unnerving precision. In her presence, Yashvardhan felt stripped bare, laid bare before her scrutinizing gaze with nowhere to hide.

Try as he might to assert himself, to reclaim even a shred of autonomy in the face of her relentless dominance, he found himself ensnared in the web of her influence once more, his voice lost in the void of his own uncertainty.

The news of his second marriage, orchestrated by his mother without any consultation, ignited a firestorm of resentment within him. He longed to break free from the shackles of her control, to assert his independence and forge his own path in life. But the weight of her expectations bore down upon him like a leaden weight, crushing his spirit and leaving him powerless to defy her will.

In moments of solitude, Yashvardhan found himself haunted by the memories of his first wife, Aradhya, which lingered like a shadow over his heart. He grieved for her loss, mourning the bond they had shared. Yet, even in his darkest moments of despair, he found himself unable to escape the web of manipulation woven by his mother's hands.

For Yashvardhan, the chaos surrounding him was more than just a mess—it was a ritual, a cathartic release in moments of overwhelming stress, often triggered by his mother's abrupt decisions for his life. It was his way of expelling the pent-up emotions that threatened to suffocate him, a desperate attempt to fend off the looming specter of a mental breakdown.

But even as he reveled in the chaos he had wrought, a sense of emptiness gnawed at his soul. Beneath the veneer of anger lay a deep well of sadness, a profound sense of loss that he could not shake- his father and Aradhya.

He couldn't shake the haunting suspicion that the deaths of both Aradhya and his father were not mere accidents, but something more sinister. The fear that their fates were intertwined, that a malevolent force lurked in the shadows, filled him with a paralyzing dread.

Every fibre of his being recoiled from the possibility, yet the nagging certainty persisted, gnawing at his sanity with relentless persistence. He knew that he was somehow aware of the reasons behind their deaths yet he prayed fervently that his darkest suspicions would prove unfounded.

The door of the cabin swung open with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the tense silence before it closed just as swiftly.

"Tsk. Tsk. Yashu, what's the matter again?"

Rekha's voice cut through the stillness, her movements brisk as she began to tidy up the scattered litters in the room.

Yashvardhan's eyes remained closed, his body tense with anger. 

"Don't you dare to call me that."

He roared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Rekha's spine.

She froze in place, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the gravity of her mistake.

But Rekha's boldness was unwavering, her confidence steady even as Yashvardhan's anger simmered. With calm grace, she placed the scattered papers onto his desk, her movements smooth and deliberate. Despite the tension, the way she carried herself caught his eye. Her movements were fluid and purposeful but it was the deliberate sway of her voluptuous curves that craved his attention.

"What should I do to pay for my mistakes, sir?"

Her voice was soft yet assertive as she moved closer to him, holding his gaze.

Yashvardhan tilted his head, his neck cracking slightly making an audible noise which effortlessly made Rekha feel her spine. His gaze remained fixed on Rekha, a fiery intensity burning in his eyes as a primal hunger stirred within him.

Despite the stoic mask he wore, his desire burned hot and with a commanding tone that brooked no disobedience, he issued his order.

"Strip."

(MATURE CONTENT AHEAD)

Rekha knew exactly what she was doing. She smirked at him and slowly started to undo the buttons of her sky blue shirt, each movement deliberate and calculated to keep his attention all to herself.

The fabric strained against her curves, ready to reveal more at any moment. As she unbuttoned her shirt, the air filled with a tense anticipation, creating a charged atmosphere that enveloped them both.

Yashvardhan's eyes stayed locked on her chest, filled with intense desire.

After she had unbuttoned herself from the shirt, she reached behind her back to unhook her white lacy bra, the anticipation thickening the air around them as the garment fell away, revealing her full boobs. They spilled forth unapologetically.

She reached down to unbutton her black pencil skirt, the fabric clinging to her curves as it slid down her legs, pooling at her feet in a whisper of fabric.

As the skirt dropped, Rekha's slender thighs were exposed, their smoothness catching his eyes. She then reached for the waistband of her thong and slowly pulled it down, letting it join the pile of discarded clothing at her feet.

And, she stood before him completely naked, her body illuminated by the soft glow of the room.

Yashvardhan's eyes followed every curve of her exposed form, taking in the sight with a deep, almost primal hunger. From the curve of her waist to the broadness of her hips, each detail was burned into his memory.

His eyes lingered on the lips that concealed the most intimate treasures of her p*ssy. With each passing moment, the lust that simmered within him threatened to consume him entirely, his body thrumming with an urgent need that pulsed in time with the rhythm of his racing heart.

As Rekha observed the intensity of Yashvardhan's gaze, she deliberately allowed her left hand to wander downward, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of her slit with a sensational touch. The sensation sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her body, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure to escape her lips.

"Mhmmm."

Yashvardhan's eyes remained fixed on her glistening womanhood, his gaze devouring every movement with an intensity that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

"Get on your fours."

As Yashvardhan's authoritative voice filled the room, her movements faltered for just a moment, a thrill of excitement coursing through her at his commanding tone. But she quickly regained her composure, her desire fueling her obedience as she turned towards the couch, her hips swaying seductively with each step.

With deliberate grace, she lowered herself onto her hands and knees, the soft fabric of the couch cushioning her skin as she positioned herself as he instructed.

Next she could hear his footsteps marching towards her and within seconds a spank landed on her right ass cheek causing her to moan in pain and pleasure.

"Anhhh."

"You're so desperate, hmm?" He asked while unbuckling his belt to undo his pants.

"Just for you. 'Sir'." She whispered adding stress to the word 'sir'.

He smirked and positioned himself at her entrance. His huge left arm tangled her hair around it and his right palm gripped her a$s as he tried to enter her.

"Ahhhmmmmm." She moaned as her head went back and she shut her eyes.

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