Devil in Bubblegum

It's often said that every meeting is a predestined story, waiting to unfold. Life is like an onion--you peel one layer at a time, and each layer holds something deeper, something unexpected. Who would've thought a random meeting between two strangers could lead to something so steamy... yet so completely out of sync, that a whole new song started playing?

I'm Palak. And this is the story of how I got taken captive by a guy so rough, even Christian Grey would've stepped aside.

It was 14th February. Valentine's Day. I hadn't eaten all day--I was too busy staring at my phone, stupidly waiting for a text from my ex. The same ex who was getting married that month. Foolish, I know. Why would someone who erased me from his life suddenly remember me on a day like this?

By evening, my stomach and my heart had both given up. I dragged myself to Burger King, grabbed a burger and a Coke, and within an hour, I was doubled over in pain--stomach ache so bad I was ready to draft my will. A hospital visit, high fever, and the second day of my period--it felt like life had ganged up on me.

My friends? Big-time assholes. Not one of them called to check on me. So, I messaged an old colleague, begging him to stay the night with me because honestly? I just couldn't be alone.

That night, I went to my friend's room--and found another guy sitting there at the table. He looked at me like he'd just discovered a toy he wanted to unwrap. We started talking, random topics bouncing around. A knock came at the door.

"That has to be Samaksh," my friend said, sighing.

I'd heard about him--Kashmiri, too handsome, too cocky. He walked in wearing jeans and a tucked-in shirt. Who dresses like that for a casual hangout? He sat right in front of me and, somehow, the conversation spiraled into fantasies, sex, numbers, positions--everything.

I started sharing my own escapades. Both the guys looked at each other, eyes wide, grinning like, "Damn, this girl has range." I knew what I was doing--I was showing off, no lies.

Later that night, he came again. This time in a vest. Just a vest. I was like, "What kind of grown man casually rocks up to a room of strangers like that?" At that time, I wasn't even remotely attracted to him.

Fast forward: 24th February. My ex got married. I was wrecked--physically, emotionally, spiritually. I actually thought about ending it all. Instead, I clung to the only distraction I could think of--those two idiots who made me laugh that day.

I begged my friend for help. She gave me his number--Samaksh's number. Without thinking, I texted him. Crying.

He replied instantly: "Come down. I'm here."

He handed me the keys to his room and said, "Wait there. I'll come."

I went, alone. Wanting to disappear from the world.

He came in with a small bottle of Coke. "Tight budget, huh?" I joked. But honestly? It was sweet. He talked to me like I mattered. Asked how I was feeling. I told him everything--my ex, my pain, my shame.

And then he dropped this line: "It hurts, doesn't it? That now he'll be fucking someone else. You'll get better dick. Just try."

I blinked.

Really?

Then he started telling me about his own escapades. I was intrigued. Fascinated. I kept thinking--is life really this simple for some people?

Then came vodka. One shot. Two. Three. With each one, I got messier, louder, more broken. I spilled food on myself, ruined my pants. I was pear-shaped, nothing my friend had would fit me. He gave me his pants.

They fit. Soft. Comfortable. Safe.

He helped me walk, picked me up when I tripped, treated me like I was in a movie montage. No guy had done that for me before.

When the night ended, he dropped me back. My best friend freaked out--of course she did. "Drunk in a stranger's room? Are you insane?"

But after that? I kept running into him. Every time, he'd smile, call me over, talk. Most people avoid, ghost, ignore. He did the opposite.

As a thank you, I even joked--"Should I send a sexy girl your way to add to your collection?" Little did I know, I was the one getting added.

He shared a story he wrote--a roleplay with me as the HR. My jaw dropped. The boy could write. Like, actually write.

We met again. Friends, laughter. Secrets passed through glances. Then, one night, he video-called me. Awkward. Intimate. Familiar. His shirt was off again.

Next day, the chats turned steamier. I thought--fuck it. "Wanna try sexting?"

"Come over," he replied. "If you want sex, come over."

And I did.

His room was dimly lit, warm, the scent of cologne and mischief in the air. His bed was a mess. A condom pack lay casually on the sheets--bubblegum flavor.

He didn't wait. The moment I stepped in, he locked the door and pinned me against it. His mouth crashed into mine, demanding, hungry. I moaned into the kiss as his hands slipped beneath my top, fingers skimming up my sides. He pulled it over my head, tossing it aside.

He kissed my neck, trailed down slowly, teasing me with soft bites until he unclasped my bra. His eyes sparkled when he saw my breasts. He cupped them, gently at first, then rougher, squeezing and sucking until my back arched, begging for more.

I slid my hands down to his jeans, feeling the growing bulge beneath. He smirked. "Remember when I asked what's the biggest you've taken?"

He unzipped, and my eyes widened. Thick, long, flushed with heat--he looked at me, challenging. "Like what you see?"

"It's... a lot," I whispered, breath hitching.

"It'll fit. Let me show you."

I dropped to my knees, wrapped my lips around him, slowly taking him in. He groaned, one hand tangling in my hair as I moved--slow, then faster, using my tongue, my lips, sucking him deep until he was cursing under his breath.

"Fuck, you're good at this," he growled, pulling me up.

He spun me around and pushed me gently onto the bed. "Your turn."

He spread my legs, kissing down my belly, then lower. His tongue found me, slow circles that made my toes curl. I moaned loudly, grinding into his face. He didn't stop until I came, shuddering, gasping his name.

Then he climbed up, kissed me deeply, and positioned himself between my legs.

"Ready?"

"Yes," I breathed.

He slid in--slowly at first. I gasped. The stretch, the heat--it burned, but it felt divine.

"God, you're tight," he groaned.

He moved--thrusts slow and deep, then faster, harder. The headboard slammed with every stroke. My nails raked down his back. He kissed me hard, bit my lip, sucked on my neck--marking me.

With every thrust, I felt undone. My moans filled the room. He gripped my hips and went deeper, faster.

He flipped me over, took me from behind--one hand pulling my hair, the other on my waist. I was loud, breathless, wild. He spanked me once--just enough to sting--and I whimpered.

"You like that?"

"Yes! Don't stop!"

He kept going until my body trembled, another orgasm ripping through me.

He pulled out, rolled me over, and thrust back in--this time, locking eyes.

"I want to see you when you come again," he whispered.

And I did. Screaming his name as I shattered beneath him.

Finally, he groaned, face twisted in pleasure, and came deep inside the condom. We collapsed together, breathless, tangled in sheets.

But it wasn't over.

I took him in my mouth again, slow and gentle, tasting him, teasing him back to life.

"God, you're dangerous," he whispered, as I made him come again.

Right then, our friends barged in.

We just laughed.

That wasn't the end. Not even close.

This was the story of how I met the devil in bubblegum. Sweet. Addictive. Painful... if you chew too long.