Body of Words - 3
Own Me
Content Warning: This story is meant for adult readers only. It contains mature themes meant for entertainment purpose only. The content herein should not be considered educational or advisory in nature. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
This story series should not be considered as an endorsement for u/vanilla4banana. You should exercise caution and discretion while interacting with personalities online.
Body of Words is about Yashna (u/vanilla4banana). If you have never seen her content, go check it out! You can also read my interview with her. The third part of the story about her picks up right after the events of Body of Words - 2. If you haven’t read the first two parts, please do so for this story to make sense to you. This is the final part published here. The entire book is available on my Gumroad.
Happy Reading!
This is last of the chapters that is available as a free preview. The juiciest of last three chapters can be found ONLY in the complete book. If you like reading through, please consider buying the book. Sale of the ebooks is the only way I can support this publication. If you like the work here, please consider showing your support. Every ₹ by you goes back into making After a Good Date a better place for desi erotica.
3
My doorbell rang. Between that and the time I had entered the room, I had taken off my shoes, emptied my pockets, and figured out the way to connect the TV’s YouTube to mine. I was unbuckling my belt when the doorbell rang again. I took off my belt and curled it into a large circle before going for the door.
I was expecting Yashna and Arun, but instead, it was the server with a large bottle of JW, a steel bucket with ice cubes, and two plates of chicken tikkas. I smiled and gestured for him to come inside. As he placed the plates on the table, I asked him if he could arrange for an extra ashtray. He gestured to an ashtray on one of the side tables. I gave an apologetic smile and let him be on his way.
Once he left, I picked up the bucket of ice and placed it inside the mini-fridge. I checked my phone for any texts from Yashna. There were none. To kill time, I went around the room, figuring out all the lights. I finally decided one dim light over the headboard of the bed was enough. Then, I stretched on the couch and flipped through acoustic playlists, trying to find something worth playing.
I fidgeted with my box of cigarettes as I waited for the two. I was tempted to text Yashna again. It was close to half an hour since we had checked in. I wasn’t worried about Yashna not showing up. If she didn’t, I could always chill in the hotel, sleep on a more lavish bed than mine, smoke a few cigarettes, and drink myself silly while watching a series of stand-ups on YouTube. What I was worried about, though, was Yashna showing up on her own.
The entire time I had spent with Yashna had been charged because she was with Arun. I didn’t know how it would be when it was just her. Since the very first time I had texted Yashna, a fresh 18-year-old on Reddit, showing her cum-drenched pussy, I have always seen her with other men, had always imagined her with other men.
The evening with Arun around, that little smoke break outside when I grabbed her for the first time — they were the way they were because Arun was around.
The doorbell rang again, finally pulling me out of my restless thoughts. I took a deep breath, uncoiling my fingers from the armrest. I couldn’t help but notice the slight shake in my hands. I frowned, unsure of what it meant. With a final glance at my dimly lit room, I moved towards the door, trying not to let my anticipation show.
When I swung the door open, there they were—Yashna and Arun. I expected to see her in something barely-there, something that screamed she was flaunting every inch of herself for me, for him, for anyone who cared to watch. But what I saw threw me off entirely.
Yashna immediately stepped inside the room, and the way she was dressed—a vision that both defied and deepened everything I thought I knew about her.
She was dressed in an oversized white shirt, the kind that swallowed her petite frame, its cuffs brushing the knuckles of her fingers. The shirt hung low, stopping mid-thigh, giving the illusion that she wore nothing beneath it.
What caught my attention was the way it was buttoned. It was haphazard, the top three buttons undone, exposing a stretch of bare collarbone and the delicate swell of her breasts. Her neck had the beaded necklace, and as she walked in, I noticed her anklets, almost out of place with the otherwise daring outfit. She had missed a few buttons near her stomach, leaving a teasing gap to see more of her bare skin.
One side of the shirt was tucked into what looked like tiny denim shorts, only visible as she shifted and the shirt pulled up. The shorts themselves were ripped and frayed, but it was the black smears—paint? or something else—that covered parts of the fabric, staining her exposed skin too.
The paint (or something else?) felt deliberate, almost like she was wearing battle scars, daring me to ask. Her legs, bare and long beneath the shirt, were marked with faint lines—stripes drawn with a black marker. As she walked in, Arun followed her silently.
“You took your time,” I murmured, not able to peel my gaze away from her. There was something haunting in the way she stood, swaying slightly, as if caught between pride and submission.
Yashna tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk that looked almost painful. “Had to decide what would make an impression,” she murmured back, voice rough and sultry. “Did I?” She shifted her weight, causing the shirt to ride up further.
Arun stepped around her, his expression guarded but not entirely devoid of concern. His eyes were on her legs too, tracing the lines that I now realized weren’t just random—they formed crude letters, half-smudged but legible: OWN ME written on both of her thighs. The writing went beyond her knees, legible only when someone stared at her bare legs.
The letters were uneven, some fading like they’d been rubbed too hard, others stark and defiant. The sight of it made something knot in my chest—a reaction I didn’t expect.
What kind of statement was she making? She had walked down from her room, taken the elevator, with countless eyes reading what she had written on her legs, the words telling them to own her. That’s when I realized that her feet were bare, making her body all the more vulnerable. I looked back at her face, catching the briefest flash of something raw—anger, or maybe grief—before she smothered it with a smile.
Yashna walked deeper inside the room, her bare feet quiet on the carpet. She glanced around, taking in the neatly made bed, the untouched food, and the ashtray with burnt cigarettes. Her lips quirked up.
“Haven’t even broken in the bed yet, have you?” she murmured, her gaze flicking back to me, eyebrow arched in mock surprise. “Arun and I… well, we made a mess of ours.” Her hand caressed the words written on her thigh.
She moved towards the couch, then hesitated. Slowly, deliberately, she slid onto the armrest, one leg draping over the side, the other dangling off, giving me and Arun a perfect view of her ink-streaked thighs. The way she settled herself made it clear she knew exactly what effect it would have. Arun’s gaze flickered, tension tightening his posture.
“I guess I’ll take the armrest then,” she said casually, feigning a look of consideration. She glanced at the empty seat beside me, then back at Arun, who remained standing, still as a statue.
“Or… should I make room?” Her voice dripped with provocation, the words aimed not just at me, but at the unspoken boundaries we were already testing.
“Sit wherever you like,” I said, keeping my voice level. “It’s not about where you are. It’s about where you want to be.”
Her lips curled, and for a second, she looked almost childlike, like she was remembering a joke only she understood. I closed the door and walked to the couch to sit beside her. Yashna slid closer, until she was perched right beside me, her knee brushing against my arm.
There was no way any of us were truly comfortable. Yashna’s posture was too loose, too theatrical, as though she were performing for an unseen audience. Arun’s silence said everything he wasn’t saying.
I was opening the bottle of whisky when Yashna shifted again, pressing closer until her thigh brushed against mine. The black ink smeared just a little more, and she looked down at it, then back at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“You like it?” she asked, voice soft. She traced one finger over the smeared letters on her thigh, watching my reaction carefully. “It’s just a reminder.”
“Of what?” I asked, leaning against her bare leg as I poured three glasses up to the half with whisky. I glanced at Arun, wondering if it was too much for him. It was then that I realized the bucket of ice was still in the fridge.
I held Yashna’s ankle and let my hand linger as I brushed it aside to get up from the couch to get the ice.
Yashna spoke from behind, “That no matter what I put on, no matter how I dress myself up…” her voice trailed off, then continued, “Underneath, I’m still marked.”
I returned to the couch with the bucket of ice. The cool air from the ice brushed against my fingers, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off Yashna’s bare leg as I sat down beside her again. Deliberately, I let her leg settle back onto my thigh, the inked words on her skin—OWN ME—catching the soft light.
“Do either of you want water?” I asked casually, breaking the silence as I reached for her glass and dropped in a few cubes of ice. The clinking of the ice was almost too loud in the quiet room.
Arun hesitated, glancing at Yashna, who was already reaching for her drink. “You’re going to regret it if you keep going like this,” he warned softly.
Yashna paused, her gaze flicking to him, then back to me. With a slow smile, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a generous swig. Almost immediately, she coughed, choking slightly on the harsh burn. I could see the way her throat tightened, the tendons around her soft neck visible, as she struggled to swallow it down, eyes watering slightly.
“Easy,” I murmured, hand instinctively moving to her knee, brushing against her skin. “It’s not water.”
She coughed again, the sound breaking into a rough laugh. “I know it’s not water,” she rasped, voice hoarse but full of defiance. “Just… wasn’t expecting it to hit that hard.”
I opened my mouth to ask her something, but I was interrupted by Arun, “You don’t have to prove anything, Yashna.”
“Who says I’m proving anything?” she shot back, her tone biting. She glanced at him, then at me, her eyes dark and sultry.
“You were about to say something?” She leaned back, shifting her leg slightly, making it press against my thigh even more deliberately.
I cleared my throat, letting my hand linger just a little longer than necessary before pulling back. “Yeah, I was… curious.” I poured a little more whisky into my glass, the liquid swirling darkly. “You two… have you done this before?” I asked, voice light, almost casual. “I mean, you and Arun—being with another man?”
Yashna’s gaze turned sharper, more calculating. She tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. “Not like this,” she murmured, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “But we’ve had… fun.” The word dripped with suggestion, her eyes gleaming with something wild. “Though it’s never really been about another man. More like other… people.”
Arun shifted, his jaw tightening. “It never came up,” he said, voice low. There was no accusation in his tone, but something heavy lingered there, unspoken. “Not until now.”
I leaned back, pretending to be casual even as I felt the tension tighten between us.
“And is it true,” I said, glancing at Arun, “that she hasn’t had sex without being recorded for months?”
Arun’s gaze flickered to Yashna, and something dark and almost bitter passed through his eyes. “More than months,” he murmured, voice almost a growl. “And it’s not just about the recording. It’s about who she’s recording for.” His fingers flexed, tightening around his glass. “Who she’s performing for.”
Yashna shifted beside me, her knee pressing more firmly against my thigh, her lips curving into a smile that was almost too bright, too forced. “And right now…” she purred, looking up at me through her lashes. “Who do you think I am performing for?”
There was a slight slur in her words. She wasn’t drunk, but I was sure that whisky was reaching her brain. The question hung between us like a live wire. I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn settle before replying. “I don’t know” I said softly, meeting her gaze head-on.
Her smile widened, and she took another small sip of the whisky, the ice clinking softly against the glass. “I guess we’ll see,” she murmured.
I shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of her leg against mine, the words OWN ME now smeared with a faint hint of sweat. “Arun, you’ve been watching her do this for how long?” I asked, keeping my tone level.
“Long enough to know that she’ll push until someone pushes back,” he replied, his voice tight. His gaze shifted to me, something almost daring me to respond. “Question is, are you going to?”
Yashna’s breath hitched, just slightly, her leg twitching against mine. I could feel it—the charged anticipation, the waiting for someone to do something that would break this delicate balance.
“I think we’re just getting started,” I murmured, letting my hand rest lightly on her knee again, thumb brushing against the inked letters. “Aren’t we?”
I kept my glass down, and reached for a cigarette. I gestured the box toward Arun. He hesitated before taking out a cigarette.
I picked up the lighter and flicked it on, the flame casting soft, flickering shadows across Yashna’s ink-streaked thighs. The words OWN ME stood out against her skin, smeared and slightly faded, and I couldn’t help but imagine Arun’s fingers tracing those very letters, holding her in place, guiding his dick inside her.
My hand tightened on her knee, the sensation of her bare skin under my fingers sending a strange surge through me. But it wasn’t just the feel of her—soft, warm, delicate—it was the fact that I was touching her with Arun watching, that the same girl he was photographing, claiming in some way, was now beneath my hand.
As I leaned back, lighting the cigarette, I glanced at Arun. He took a slow drag, his eyes fixed on the way my thumb brushed the letters on Yashna’s thigh. My pulse quickened, and I shifted in my seat, feeling my cock harden—not just from her presence, but from the sheer audacity of caressing his girl right in front of him.
“Is this what you were talking about?” I murmured, letting the smoke drift lazily between us. I traced a slow line up her inner thigh, stopping just before the hem of her shorts. “That mess you made in your room? Before you came here, with all this ink on you?”
Yashna’s breath hitched, a smile curling on her lips. She shifted closer, pressing herself into me, her leg pushing harder against my thigh. “Maybe,” she whispered, voice dripping with amusement. “Or maybe it was just a warm-up.”
Arun stiffened beside me, his knuckles turning white around his glass. I glanced at him, my thumb still tracing slow circles against Yashna’s thigh.
“She likes to do that, doesn’t she?” I said softly, my voice carrying a quiet, almost taunting edge. “Tease a little, show off… make you work for it?”
Yashna’s smile widened, and she leaned back, arching her back slightly, causing the shirt to ride up further. Her gaze locked onto mine, and without breaking eye contact, she shifted her other leg, letting it slide up over my knee, spreading herself wider, thus opening herself wider, as if ready to let someone in. Even in her denim shorts and that oversized tee shirt, she felt sultry and naked.
“No, what are you saying?,” she murmured, her voice taking on a sultry, breathy tone, “I don’t make men work for it. That’s my whole deal”.
She glanced at Arun, then back at me, her lips parting as if she were about to say something—something wild, something reckless. Instead, she reached for my hand, lifting it from her thigh and placing it higher, fingers curling around mine. “You want to touch something that he was touching earlier?”
The words sent a jolt through me. I could almost see it—Arun and Yashna in that room, his hands roaming over her, the ink smearing as he pressed her down, as he marked her. Now, with his gaze burning into my skin, I was touching her the same way.
“Yashna—” Arun began, his voice strained, but she cut him off with a look that was equal parts warning and invitation.
“Don’t, Arun,” she whispered. Her hand, still holding mine, guided my fingers further up, grazing the hem of her shorts. “I want him to feel it too.”
My chest tightened at the way she said it, the breathy confession that made something dark and possessive coil low in my stomach. I leaned forward, the scent of whisky and cigarette smoke mingling between us, my mouth just inches from her ear.
“Are you sure, you want me to do it? There are no cameras here,” I murmured, my fingers brushing the edge of her shorts, teasing the skin beneath.
Yashna’s breath shuddered, her eyes half-closing as she let out a soft, broken laugh. “I don’t care. I want you to know that it doesn’t matter who’s touching me,” she whispered, voice shaking with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll let you do it anything, anywhere.”
The blatant confession, the sheer audacity of it, made my cock twitch, straining against my jeans. I glanced at Arun again, saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest rose and fell with barely contained emotion. But he didn’t move. He didn’t pull her away.
“Is that true, Arun?” I asked quietly, my gaze never leaving his. “Does it not matter?”
Arun exhaled sharply, his eyes flickering to Yashna’s hand, still resting on mine. Slowly, deliberately, he took another drag from the cigarette, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Arun shook her head, slowly, his lips pursed.
Yashna smiled at that, a dark, secretive smile. She tilted her head, brushing her lips against my jaw, the softest of touches that sent a shock of electricity down my spine.
“What are you,” she breathed, “waiting for?”
The words were a dare, a challenge that lived in the small space between us. I slid my hand further up her thigh, my fingers going past the hem of her shorts, the temperature increasing steadily, till I reached her bare warm opening. Yashna gasped, almost surprised how quickly my hand was touching her inner lips.
“Careful what you wish for,” I murmured, voice low and steady. I glanced at Arun, watching the way his gaze darkened, the way he seemed to struggle with himself. Then I turned back to Yashna, fingers tightening on her thigh.
“Because I don’t think either of you is ready for what happens next.”
“I am not sure about that. I have been through a lot, and here I am,” Yashna said, opening her legs wider, and pulling the hem of her shorts higher, to let me touch her better in front of Arun.
“Look at me, Yashna,” I demanded, my voice cutting through the haze of her strained breath. Her eyes flickered to mine, wide and unsteady, like she was caught in a current she couldn’t swim against. My grip on her thigh tightened as I shifted my body, blocking her view of Arun and bringing myself closer, until the heat of her breath mingled with mine.
“Do you think it’s about this?” I whispered, slipping a finger inside her. My palm was grazing against her shorts. I should have taken off her tee shirt, I should have stripped her down in front of her man, and then fingered her. But, I didn’t have the time for it.
“About what’s happening right now?” I leaned in closer, my mouth hovering near her ear, the scent of whisky and smoke thick between us. “Is it about that moment when you realized—really realized—that no matter what you do, you’re still out of control?”
Yashna’s breathing hitched, and I could see her struggling, that façade of defiance cracking under the weight of something much darker. She didn’t answer, her eyes flicking between mine and the faint outline of Arun’s presence behind me.
“What was it like?” I asked softly, voice steady, unwavering. “Knowing you let them cum inside, knowing you wanted it, even if it meant everything you were trying to escape came crashing back?”
Yashna’s breath shuddered as if my words physically stabbed her, her body trembling under my grip. I watched her reaction carefully, almost clinically, remembering the first time I heard about her twisted descent.
Yashna and u/vanilla4banana have a bridge — a bridge made with an incident, two incidents actually of similar kind.
She was 18 years and 4 months old, when she found out that she was pregnant. Her body hadn’t even ripened to bear the fruit of a child. But her biology said otherwise.
That first pregnancy was an accident, a consequence of her reckless, compulsive need to lose herself to strangers. It was that night—the one where the condom tore, and she let him keep going. The stranger, almost twice her age, didn’t notice the shift in her body language when she felt it snap. But instead of stopping him, she whispered, “Don’t pull out.”
When he was done, Yashna took a picture of the torn condom, his sticky cock poking out of the latex, and then one of her swollen, cum-filled entrance, almost as proof of what they’d done. She even made him take one of his cum dripping from her, like it was a trophy. Those photos became her obsession in the weeks that followed.
What came after was a frightening blur of late periods, paranoia, and a sick thrill that coursed through her veins like poison. She hadn’t told Arun. Hadn’t told anyone, in fact. Instead, she spiraled into isolation, obsessed with the idea of being filled, with the consequences pressing against her ribcage like a secret she couldn’t breathe around.
When the test showed those two faint pink lines, she sat in her bathroom for hours, staring at it, stomach twisted with something beyond fear—something that tasted almost like… satisfaction. Like she finally had something, some proof that all her defiance, all her reckless abandon, had created a new kind of chaos. But the reality, the weight of it, set in slowly, like ice spreading under her skin. She had gone to the station, sat there through the cold dawn, watching the trains come and go, wondering if she should just disappear altogether.
But she didn’t. She chose to stay and make it vanish.
The abortion pill came two days later, given to her by a girl friend who asked too many questions and got too few answers. The pain that followed—the cramping, the blood, the hours spent curled up in bed biting down on her screams—left her more hollow than she’d ever imagined. But even through the agony, she kept creating content, kept pushing herself, showing off that young body that had flirted too closely with motherhood and then violently rejected it. It was like she wanted to show everyone, to prove that nothing had changed, that she was still the same—still perfect and untouched.
Then came the second time.
This one wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate. A sick, calculated choice she made, daring her body to swell and expand. Daring it to remind her of what she had almost kept. Yashna began sleeping with multiple men, taking their loads, using their cum like it was some twisted form of currency. She’d tell them to keep going, not to worry about a condom. She played up the allure, talked about the fantasies of having that MILF body, of her breasts growing heavy and round, of her hips widening, of that visible proof of her sluttiest act. But when the second child grew just enough for her body to begin changing, she swallowed the pills again.
This time, she recorded every excruciating moment. The way she bled and cried, not from pain, but from a grief she couldn’t name. The way she showed her fans the ultrasound, the positive test, then the medical reports that confirmed the end. She turned it into a story, a twisted narrative of a girl too broken to carry anything to term. The comments poured in—sympathy, disgust, admiration for her audacity. And she reveled in it.
Because that was the thing about Yashna: she didn’t care about being a person anymore. She cared about being a symbol—of brokenness, of defiance, of someone who had control over everything, including the life inside her. The same control she desperately tried to reclaim by marking her body, letting the world see every inch of herself that she could destroy, rearrange, and present anew.
Was she beyond repair? Could she be reminded of the thing that she has been trying to forget?
I had looked at Arun, while I fingered Yashna, while talked about how she made random men fuck her and cum inside her, how they treated her like a disposable cup — Single-Use Only.
I expected Arun to react. But instead, he reached for my box of cigarettes, and took one out. He watched his woman being fingered and goaded, being called a cumslut. He calmly lit the cigarette, dragged on it, and looked back me with vacant eyes.
I pulled my hand away from her, and Yashna whimpered at the loss, her body jolting forward with the sudden absence of touch. Before she could recover, I shoved her off the armrest with a force that left her scrambling to steady herself, nearly toppling over onto the floor.
“Undress for me,” I demanded, voice low and commanding. “Let me see that single-use body.”
For a moment, something flashed in her eyes—a mixture of excitement and something else—but then she laughed, a sound that was almost too cheerful. She stood up, her movements exaggerated, and began unbuttoning the shirt, making a strip show of it.
She turned it into a performance, every flick of her fingers, every shift of her hips emphasizing her nakedness. And when she was done, standing there completely bare except for the beaded necklace around her neck and the delicate anklets on her feet, she turned around slowly, displaying herself for us.
“Like what you see?” she teased, giving a playful shake of her ass, the curve of her hips more pronounced, her breasts fuller than I remembered from the photos. The faintest swell of her pelvic area reminded me of what she’d put her body through. What she chose to put her body through.
But I wasn’t there to be caught up in her games. I was there to show her that it wasn’t just about being on display.
When she dropped to her knees in front of me, the look in her eyes almost taunted me. She leaned in, lips parted, eager to please, and I bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was supposed to be soft.
But Yashna, always the performer, pushed against me, her tongue demanding entry, her hands sliding up to my crotch. I pulled back sharply, yanking her hair until her head tilted up, her tongue still half out, her mouth hanging open in a dazed expression.
“What do you want?” I whispered softly, my grip tight in her hair.
“Spit on me,” she replied, her voice breathless as her hands cupped her breasts.
I shook my head, glancing over at Arun, who was watching, eyes dark and unreadable. “Take off your pants,” I ordered, turning Yashna’s head to face him.
If you have read so far, chances are you liked reading this work. After a Good Date does not take advertisements. Every work that you see here is reader-supported. If you like the work here, please consider supporting the publication. You can do so by buying my books from my Gumroad store or from Amazon. A long-term support (along with getting more perks), will be through Patreon. Every ₹ that you give to this publication, goes back into it to make it a better place for Indian erotica.
Arun hesitated, surprised by the command, but then his gaze shifted to Yashna’s face. He saw the way she was looking at him—expectant, eager. Slowly, he complied, unbuttoning his jeans, his movements tense.
Yashna’s eyes stayed glued to Arun’s hands as they stripped him bare. When he was naked, she licked her lips, a hunger in her gaze. I pushed her head, like urging animal to walk to go and fetch.
Without a word, she leaned forward, her mouth brushing against his cock, her eyes flicking back to me, watching for my reaction.
“Go on,” I murmured, leaning back. “Show me what you do.”
Continued for Three More Chapters in Complete Book
This is the end of a very long preview of "A Body of Words". The rest of the story, is contained only in the book "Body of Words". If you have enjoyed reading so far, please consider buying the book. It is the only way I can support the publication and keep more stories coming.
Writing on the body can be so hot xxx