Second Chance: A Dark Tale of Urban India-Chapter 61: Akhil’s Fate(R-18)

Far corner road, at the entrance of Lutyens’ Delhi, Porsche zone

An old Hyundai car was parked in the shadows. It rocked subtly, as if something intense had been going on inside.

In the back seat, a woman in her thirties, dressed in dark one-piece suit, had her legs spread wide.

Black stockings clung to her skin, making it look even milkier under the faint glow of the streetlights. One hand gripped the seat for support as she jerked her waist; the other pressed against her bare, heavy breasts, fingers teasing and pinching her nipples. Her vision was hazy with pleasure, but her eyes stayed locked on the head of the young guy buried between her thighs.

Her eyes rolled back as she moaned, voice breathy and broken. "Anh! Fuck yes... use your tongue, nngh! Hah! I’m almost there... student."

The boy, no older than eighteen, couldn’t resist. He shot one hand up to grab her exposed breasts, squeezing the soft flesh that spilled out of her dress. The stockings were torn open at the crotch, giving his tongue full access to her dripping pussy.

He worked her relentlessly

Slurp* Slurp* Lick* Suck*

His other hand wasn’t idle. He stroked his bare, seven-inch cock with quick, urgent thrusts, eyes drinking in her lewd body, lust burning through him.

This young man was none other than Akhil, Rohit’s friend, and right now he was devouring his favorite professor, Karishma, right there in her car.

"Mmmph... anh, yes," Karishma moaned. Suddenly she grabbed the back of his head and shoved him deeper, bucking her hips hard against his face. "Stretch your tongue more... I’m about to—"

Her tone turned demanding as her soft, silky thighs clamped around his head, trapping him completely.

Akhil muffled under the pressure. "Mmm... mm." But he didn’t stop. Instead he gripped her hips, fingers sinking into plush flesh, and pulled her even harder onto his tongue.

As the passion peaked, Karishma’s body jerked violently. A long, powerful streak of her juices squirted across his face. He tried to lick and swallow what he could, but most of it drenched him completely.

She collapsed back against the seat with a long, shuddering sigh, chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

Akhil, being dedicated, kept softly licking her oversensitive pussy like a devoted puppy, as if to draw out every last shiver.

She mused for a moment, then parted her legs, freeing him. She reached for the handkerchief from her nearby purse and gently wiped his drenched face.

"Good boy," she praised softly. "The way you have improved... your future wife would be quite satisfied."

Akhil’s face brimmed with pride. "Thanks, ma’am. But I do wish to marry you... if you ever change your mind."

Karishma’s face warmed, but she laughed softly.

"Stop that nonsense." she scolded lightly, though she made no move to cover her exposed breasts. Instead, she leaned forward and opened her arms. "Come here. Give me a hug."

Akhil moved eagerly, pressing against her, but he still insisted, voice earnest as he stole a quick kiss. "No, Ma’am, I’m serious. If you give me a chance, I’d do anything for you."

A rare smile bloomed on Karishma’s face, closer to sly than sweet.

"Of course you would," she murmured. She kissed him deeply on the lips, sharing the lingering taste of her own juices, before pulling back just enough to ask the question that had been on her mind. "But before that... did you do what I asked you to do earlier?"

Akhil panicked and tried to be evasive. "Yes.. but I need more time. Actually.."

Karishma’s gaze flicked downward. His bare cock was still fully erect, saluting her proudly. She gasped in mock surprise, then reached out and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. She bent forward. "Ah, my poor little fellow... surely this needs more love."

She gave it a slow, deliberate jerk, pulling the foreskin back to expose the glistening head.

The sudden warmth of her soft hand drew a sharp moan from Akhil. His pale cheeks turned bright red. "Ah... miss..."

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaned down, and planted a soft kiss on the tip. Then she looked up at him through her lashes. "How much time do you need?"

Akhil, half-dazed, managed, "A little... ma’am."

She deliberately rubbed the slick, pink head against the soft bead of her nipple, making him groan louder.

"Haaah... haaah..."

She squeezed her breasts together, trapping his shaft in a slow, firm channel of warm flesh. Only the swollen head peeked out, playing hide-and-seek with each subtle thrust.

In a sultry whisper she asked again, "Tell me the time."

Akhil hesitated, "One week... after the last exam results..."

She slid her tongue out and took half his length into her mouth, sucking hard before releasing it with a wet pop, only to repeat the motion a few times, bobbing slowly.

Akhil whimpered. "Ma’am... deeper... please..."

She paused, guided his trembling hand to one of her breasts, then resumed her position. "Make it two days. Deal?"

Akhil could only nod weakly. "Yes..."

Smiling, she took a deep breath, relaxed her throat, and swallowed his entire shaft in one smooth glide until her lips kissed his balls.

...

A few minutes later, Akhil stepped out, slightly disheveled, adjusting his shirt. Karishma followed, brushing her hair back, both of them catching their breath.

"You sure you want to go to his house this late?" she asked again. "Wouldn’t it be better if I just drop you home?"

Akhil shook his head. "No worries. It’s not my first time. Besides... I’ve got something important to return to him. In person."

"Suit yourself," Karishma shrugged and unlocked the door.

She didn’t want to be seen lingering in Lutyens’ Area — the elite neighborhood of Delhi’s richest business families. Eyes here remembered faces and rumors in night were wild.

She waved and drove off.

Akhil exhaled.

"She sure is a strong tease, I wonder if i will ever fuck... anyway. Time to return the money."

He walked deeper into the colony.

Tall iron gates.

Long boundary walls.

Wide, silent roads under evenly spaced streetlights.

It should have felt safe. No cameras visible, no patrolling jeeps, same familiar route he’d taken a dozen times before.

But tonight, something felt... wrong.

His footsteps echoed louder than usual. Too loud.

A faint rustling sound came from the side hedge. He froze and leaned closer.

"meow~" A stray cat darted out.

He let out a nervous laugh. "hah! Idiot..."

He turned the corner.

Headlights flashed on.

A van stood parked ahead with other bikes blocking the road. Several silhouettes emerged from nearby.

His heartbeat spiked.

A flashlight beam hit his face.

"Hey," a voice called out. "Is he the target?"

Another replied calmly, "Looks like it. Let’s confirm."

A man stepped forward.

"Kid. Are you Akhil Sharma? Son of Judge Kamlesh Sharma?"

His blood ran cold.

Instinct screamed at him.

"No, no! You’re mistaken," he stammered. "I’m... Naveen. My name is Naveen."

The men exchanged glances. Then smiled.

"Ah. Our mistake then. You may pass."

Akhil forced a shaky smile.

"It’s okay, I don’t mind..."

Instead of walking forward, he slowly stepped backward.

He bumped into something solid.

A massive figure loomed behind him.

"Care to show your phone, kiddo?" the deep voice rumbled.

Akhil’s pulse hammered in his ears. These weren’t random thugs. They were organized.

’What if Harsha’s gang sent them?’

He didn’t wait.

He bolted into the nearest alley.

The muscular man lit a cigarette, watching calmly.

A twisted grin spread across his face.

"Before the patrol comes..." he announced lazily, loud enough for the others to hear, "whoever catches him first is exempt from late-night duty."

Cheers erupted.

Engines roared to life.

Bikes screeched forward.

And Akhil ran.

He dialed a familiar number, only to be met with an automated message."The number you have dialed is switched off."

Rooftop – Orion Towers, Late Night

The crowd had thinned considerably. Most exhibition participants had already left, leaving the rooftop quieter under the hum of neon lights and distant heavy music. Masato Fujimura sat alone at the bar’s shaded edge, nursing a drink in a fine crystal glass.

He stared at the small purse in his hand, thumb brushing the edge as he took slow, deliberate gulps. Inside, a photograph peeked out: five people at a private home wedding ceremony, the bride resting her hand gently on his shoulder. The sight formed a lump in his throat that he drowned with each swallow.

He clicked his tongue out of old habit and muttered under his breath, barely audible, "All because of this idiot. First she left... and now..."

A voice interrupted him.

"Oh, Mr. Fujimura. You’re here?"

Masato turned to see Mahesh Chambani approaching. In an instant, his expression shifted—remorse vanished, replaced by the composed, dignified diplomat mask.

"Mr. Chambani." He gestured smoothly to the empty stool beside him. "Please. Join me."

Mahesh nodded and sat. "You’re alone? Where are the others?"

Masato took another sip before answering. "My wife and daughter weren’t feeling well. They returned to their suites earlier."

Mahesh ordered a quick drink from the waiter. As he waited, his eyes flicked briefly to the open purse and the visible photograph. He gestured lightly toward it.

Masato snapped the purse shut and pulled it closer with a polite smile. "Sorry for the discourtesy. Feeling a little tipsy now. Must say... Indian drinks are quite high standard."

Mahesh chuckled. "Well, that’s one of the perks of being among the richest. Everything becomes high standard."

Both men laughed. Their conversation drifted casually from usual business.. to exhibition.. then small talk, until Mahesh leaned in slightly.

"May I ask... what do you find so interesting in that Singhania boy?" He added cautiously, "I mean, you went quite far for him this time—reserving key projects despite stronger families in the running."

Masato’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk. "Mr. Chambani, some people are like water. Their depth can’t be measured by appearance alone. It’s their hidden quality that makes them special."

Mahesh nodded, satisfied. "Can’t disagree. Fine line, Mr. Fujimura. Fine line." He paused, then continued, "By the way, my attendant just received word that—"

Masato raised a hand urgently, touching his Bluetooth earpiece. "If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Chambani... urgent call from my wife. I must take this."

Mahesh smiled and extended his hand. "Of course. Until next time."

They shook hands. Masato disengaged quickly and headed back toward the elevators, descending to the 33rd floor.

In the hallway, he pressed the earpiece. "Elisa, are you sure the package is being secured?"

A calm, feminine voice answered from the other end. "Yes, sir. Any other requests?"

He gave a few clipped commands before pushing open the door to his suite.

He froze..

Ren Takayama, his wife, stood there in the middle of changing out of her bathrobe. Her bare back was turned toward him, the intricate yakuza tattoo sprawling across her skin—a dragon coiling around cherry blossoms and hidden blade. The robe slipped lower, revealing the elegant curve of her side breast.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes cold and annoyed.

Masato shivered under that look and immediately bowed. "I apologize, Ren-sama. I wasn’t aware.."

She dropped the robe completely without a word, revealing her flawless, glass-like figure. Unbothered, she slipped into a comfortable gown.

"Your room number is 14," she said flatly, her tone authorative. "Your personal belongings are being transferred there."

Masato dare not raise his head and nodded once, closed the door behind him, and stood in the hallway for a long moment.

He clicked his tongue in frustration. "Damn my luck... that bitch has to ruin everything."

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A/N: I am aware that many things are not described properly, but it is done with deliberate purpose to be revealed later in upcoming Chapters. Can be considered as a glimpse of what we are getting into.