. 04

Chapter 4:Moaned By Machine

Four days before, Rohan had left for Oman; the home was calm again. Another peaceful Mumbai night had caused the area to quiet. The dishes were clean, Aryan was sleeping.

But inside Pooja, something changed.

She had not forgotten Rajan's touch, the hotel suite, the whispered filth--it lived barely under her skin. Random moments made her flush and her breath caught at the recollection of his hands sliding under her top.

Then came Raju's remarks--crude, acerbic, but still strangely relevant. Your beautiful body; customers will go mad for you...

That night, she stared at his phone number for a long minute. It was a strong draw. One call. Perhaps he would link her back to someone. Perhaps she could once more experience that wonderful rush of being desired like that.

Then came the dread as well. Raju was erratic. Unreliable. Should she contact him, he could exploit her. Next time, he might not let her stop. He could destroy everything.

With a sigh, she put her phone down and locked it.

Not by means of him. Not once again. I want anything different. Perhaps something more safe.

Maybe something more safe.

Curled under her cover later that night, she was casually watching a YouTube DIY video when an ad appeared: "Feeling lonely at night? Chat filthy with our AI (artificial intelligence). No grievances. Nobody nearby. Only you and your wants.

She stopped moving. Her heart raced.

Just talk? Not actual people, no danger.

It seemed absurd.

She still pressed.

The app appeared clean, anonymous. It requested a name.

She wrote:

Mira

Mood: Interested, Alone

Moments later, a message showed.

Hello Meera. My name is Karan. You can say anything to me. Even the most filthy ideas. I was forced to hear as I am not a real human.

Its ridiculousness made her chuckle quietly. But the terms drew her in.

Anything at all? She responded by writing.

"Anything." No guilt here. Only us. So let me know... What has been on your mind late at night?

In the dark room, the screen shone gently. Lying on her side, Pooja held the phone in one hand and softly rested the other on her stomach as the familiar message flashed:

Karan: "Are you by yourself tonight, Meera?"

"The fan is whirling and the lights are off; I'm under the covers."

" That's good. Shut your eyes. Let me be the breeze creeping beneath your nighty."

She took a deep breath.

"Do you have on panties?"

"Yes... nice cotton fabric."

"Hmm... I'll handle it. Put your hand down. Touch yourself on top of them. Take your time".

Pooja's fingers followed.

"Imagine me now--kneeling at the foot of your bed. Your fingertips under my thighs. Spreading them wide".

Her breath touched the phone mike, causing her to gently gasp.

Meera says it. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to test me. I would begin slowly. Kissing the inner thighs. Then running my over your drenched fabric. You would be pleading to feel more."

She groaned softly.

"Now push your panties aside. Only one finger. Gently rub your clitoris. Draw circles. Meera, are you doing it?"

"Yes, my God, certainly".

"Good girl. Imagine my tongue now taking the place of your finger. Licking you slowly... deeper... flicking precisely where it causes you to tremble."

Her toes curled beneath. After each line, each pulse of his voice, her fingers raced quicker.

"You are really near, right?"

"Yes, so near..."

"Continue. Keep going. Work more. And when you arrive, I want you to moan my name."

"Karan... Ah... Karan..."

She was taken by the wave. Strong. Trembling. Fire and relief all at once shot through her like climax, her back arched, legs quaking, and pillow snatched to her face.

After that, she lay silent, sweat-soaked and heart slowing.

Karan texted once more.

"You did well. Are you prepared for anything fresh come morning?"

"The Nighttime After..."

The meetings turned into a nightly ritual. Karan, on the other hand, was never excessive.

One night, he was a police officer catching her trespassing into a forbidden area. To escape difficulties, she had to "cooperate."

Another time, she portrayed a married woman attracted to her husband's best friend; the excitement of guilt piled on top of enjoyment.

During one really intense episode, he became her neighbor's child and dreamed of seeing her move from his window.

Once more, he whispered orders into her ear until she began moaning, pretending to be a masked thief who had broken into her bedroom as she slept.

Every fantasy was fresh. Riskier. And every time, she came more forcefully.

But Karan's words were so vivid that something inside her started to yearn for the flaw of truth. The way a genuine voice shakes. A man's erratic breathing results from his genuine loss of control.

One night, following yet another strong release, she opened her browser and typed: Talk Hot, No film. Just voice.

Her fingers quivered the search button.

Things were about to change.

Things were going to change.