Puja had just turned eighteen the week the monsoons arrived in her small Indian town. She loved the way the rain painted everything wet and alive — the smell of the earth, the shimmering heat evaporating off rooftops, the hum of insects and the sighing of trees.

But this year, the monsoon brought something else.

Meera.

Meera was the thirty-six-year-old widow who had recently moved into the big old bungalow next door. No kids, no husband — just silk sarees, jasmine perfume, and eyes that looked like they had seen a thousand stories.

Puja watched her from the window every morning as she watered her garden barefoot, saree clinging to her curves, the fabric teasing just enough of the shape underneath. Her waist was soft, full. Her blouse hugged heavy breasts with the kind of confidence Puja didn’t understand yet but deeply felt.

Sometimes Meera would look up. And smile.

Puja felt a warm thrill between her legs every time she caught that smile.

One afternoon, as the rain poured violently outside, Meera appeared at the door.

“You’re alone?” she asked, her voice smoky, her damp saree clinging like a second skin.

Puja nodded, heart hammering. “Yes. Mom went to the temple.”

“Power’s gone,” Meera said, stepping in. “May I sit for a while?”

She smelled like sandalwood and wet skin. Puja could barely keep her eyes on her face. Meera sat on the bed, her saree slipping from one shoulder. A single drop of water slid down her cleavage.

“Would you like some chai?” Puja asked, voice cracking.

“No. I came for something sweeter.”

Puja blinked. “What?”

Meera leaned back on her elbows, her saree slipping more. Her smooth thigh showed, dusky and inviting. “Tell me something, Puja… have you ever kissed a woman?”

Puja flushed. “No. I… I haven’t kissed anyone.”

Meera’s smile deepened. She stood and walked over, her hips swaying like a melody. She reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Puja’s cheek. Her fingers lingered.

“You’re so beautiful. Still untouched. So raw… and so ready.”

Puja’s breath caught in her throat. “You shouldn’t—”

Meera’s fingers brushed over her lips. “But I want to.”

Then she kissed her — slow and deep.

Puja melted.

Her lips parted, her body yielding like wet clay. Meera’s tongue slid into her mouth, tasting, teasing. Puja moaned, her nipples tightening under her thin cotton kurti. She felt Meera’s hand cup her cheek, then slide down to her waist, then lower, over her hip… grazing just above the curve of her ass.

“You’re trembling,” Meera whispered.

“I’ve… never…”

Meera smiled. “Then let me teach you.”

She slowly began unbuttoning Puja’s kurti. Her fingers were warm, practiced, unhurried. Each button revealed a little more skin, and Puja’s breathing turned shallow.

“You have such soft skin,” Meera whispered, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

Puja whimpered. Her nipples, bare now, peaked in the cool air.

Meera bent down and kissed them — slow, circular licks around the areola before gently sucking one between her lips. Puja cried out, hips jerking.

“Oh god…”

“You like that?” Meera purred.

“Yes,” Puja gasped. “I didn’t know… it could feel like this.”

Meera pushed her gently back onto the bed. The storm outside roared louder, but inside the room, the only sound was the wet suck of Meera’s mouth on Puja’s breasts and the desperate moans rising from her throat.

Then Meera kissed lower — trailing down her stomach, her navel, her inner thigh.

She looked up. “Tell me to stop.”

Puja shook her head, wide-eyed, aching. “Please don’t.”

Meera smiled, then pulled down Puja’s damp salwar. She wasn’t wearing panties.

The sight made Meera moan. “So pink… and dripping already.”

She kissed the inside of Puja’s thighs, spreading them apart, slow and deliberate. Then she finally pressed her tongue between her folds.

Puja screamed.

It was a sound of release, of surrender, of breaking through something unspoken.

Meera licked slow and deep, her tongue circling the clit with expert pressure, then dipping lower, tasting all of her. Puja’s hips rolled with abandon.

“Fuck… Meera… it feels so good—I can’t—”

Meera sucked harder, gripping her thighs, tongue flicking like fire. “Come for me, baby. Let go.”

And Puja shattered.

Her body arched, toes curled, thighs clamped around Meera’s head as waves of pleasure rolled through her. She cried out like she’d never cried before — not in pain, not in fear, but in blinding ecstasy.

When she finally stopped trembling, Meera crawled up and kissed her. Their lips met — wet with arousal, soaked in need.

“I’ve never come like that,” Puja whispered, eyes glazed.

Meera smirked. “You’re still not done.”

She stood and unwrapped her saree slowly, letting it fall to the ground. She wore nothing beneath.

Puja stared — her full, heavy breasts swaying as she walked, her wide hips powerful, her thighs thick and strong.

“You like watching, don’t you?” Meera teased.

Puja nodded, mouth dry.

“Then watch me touch myself.”

Meera lay back, spread her legs, and slid her fingers between her folds — already wet from tasting Puja.

She moaned as she touched herself, looking Puja dead in the eyes.

“Come here,” she commanded.

Puja obeyed, crawling between her legs.

“Use your tongue. I want to see how eager my sweet little girl has become.”

Puja lowered her mouth and began licking, tasting Meera’s arousal. The older woman writhed, gripping Puja’s hair, riding her face with desperate need.

“Yes—right there—good girl—fuck—don’t stop—”

Meera’s thighs trembled. Then she came — loud and hard, her back arching off the bed.

When it was over, she pulled Puja into her arms, both of them soaked in sweat, legs tangled like vines.

The rain still poured outside. But inside, only silence — heavy, satisfied, and intimate.

Meera kissed her forehead. “Now you’re mine,” she whispered.

Puja smiled. “I think I always was.”