Luvsociety

I don’t trust people easily anymore. Not because I think everyone is bad. But because I have seen how quickly people can change when their interest changes. So now, when someone sits in front of me, smiles with me, talks to me like they mean it, a part of my mind still keeps one door unlocked for disappointment. I listen. I observe. I remember patterns. I notice how people speak about others when those people are not around, because one day that is exactly how they may speak about me. I notice what happens when there is money involved. When ego is involved. When jealousy is involved. When there is something to gain. When there is suddenly nothing to gain. That is where people usually introduce themselves properly. I no longer give trust just because someone gives me attention. Trust has to survive time. It has to survive inconvenience. It has to survive misunderstandings. It has to survive the moment where betraying me would actually benefit you. Until then, I keep a little distance inside my own head. And yes, somewhere in me there is always that thought that one day the person sitting in front of me might be the same person who puts a knife in my back. Maybe that sounds cold. Maybe it is. But I would rather be called guarded than be shocked by human nature every single time it reveals itself. The difference now is that I don’t live in fear of betrayal. I live prepared for it. My mind has already walked through the possibility. What if they leave? What if they lie? What if they switch sides? What if everything they said turns out to mean nothing? I have already asked myself those questions. And I have already accepted the answers. So I don’t build expectations anymore. I build awareness. You show me loyalty, I value it. You show me consistency, I remember it. You show me your ugly side, I don’t act surprised. You show me your true colours, I don’t waste time asking why the colour changed. I just adjust my distance. That is what changed in me. Before, betrayal used to destroy the image I had of someone. Now I try not to build an image in the first place. I let people reveal themselves slowly. And when they do, I believe what I see. No unnecessary anger. No dramatic confrontation. No begging for explanations. No asking, “How could you do this to me?” Because deep down, my mind had already accepted that people are capable of becoming exactly what they once promised they would never be. So if one day you disappoint me, betray me, leave me, lie to me, or become someone I no longer recognise, it will hurt. I am still human. But it will not shock me. There is a difference. Pain is difficult. Shock is worse. And I have trained myself to remove the shock. So now, I don’t expect people to stay good. I watch whether they choose to. That is enough for me 🖤

Date idea: visiting pandals all around the city🌺♥️

Someone asked me what pure joy looks like. I just looked at Bappa and smiled. Maja Raja Aala🕉️♥️

Happy Ganesh Chaturthi 🌺🕉️ Ganpati Bappa Morya 🕉️🙏🙏

Read Part 2 & 3 (Full story ) In my hiddenquillbot https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story__a8R7YbizIKE

Read Part 2 & 3 (Full story ) In my hiddenquillbot https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story__a8R7YbizIKE

Part 2 &

He opened her with both thumbs and looked at her while he licked. He traced each inner lip with the tip of his tongue, slow enough that she felt the exact path. He circled her entrance without pushing in. He flicked her clit and then soothed it with a broad wet stroke. When her standing leg started to shake he held her hip and kept going. The taste of her filled his mouth, warm and thick. He swallowed and went back for more. He stayed there longer than the room deserved. He licked the crease where her thigh met her body, then returned to her folds and mapped them again like he had missed a line. He flattened his tongue and held it against her entrance, tasting the fresh wetness that kept coming. He sucked one outer lip into his mouth, then the other, then parted her wider and pushed his tongue inside her in deep, searching strokes. His nose brushed her clit with every movement. Sushmita’s palm slipped on the mirror. A soft broken sound escaped around her fingers. Above his head the black and white dress was still bunched at her waist, the tag scratching faintly against the glass. Two fingers slid through the mess and pushed inside her. She was so wet they went in easy. He curled them forward and rubbed that swollen place inside while his mouth closed over her clit and sucked. Not hard at first. Steady. Mean in how patient it was. Her walls fluttered around his fingers. More wetness spilled onto his knuckles and down onto the tile. He sucked her clit in small pulses, tongue working the underside, then released it and licked her open again from bottom to top like he had only just started. He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue, fucking her with it while she trembled on one foot. Then the fingers came back, thicker, slower, stretching her while he sucked her clit like it belonged in his mouth. He kept changing. Long licks. Tight flicks. Deep suction. A pause where he only breathed on her, watching her clit twitch, before he covered her again. Sushmita’s standing knee threatened to give. He held her up with one hand on her hip and did not give her enough to finish. A knock hit the door. “Do you need help with sizes?” Sushmita’s voice came out thin and high. “No. I am fine. Thank you.” Aarush smiled against her cunt and sucked her clit harder while the footsteps faded. She almost folded. He stood just long enough to take her breast into his mouth again, fingers still working between her legs, thumb on her clit, wet sounds loud in the tiny room. He bit the soft underside of her breast, then soothed it, then went back down because her pussy was still dripping onto the tile and he was not done tasting it. He licked her like he was learning her. Long strokes that covered everything. Short ones that stayed on her clit until her hips tried to chase him. Tongue inside her, thick and searching, then out, then sucking her clit until her thigh trembled against his ear. He found the left side of her clit made her whole body jump, so he stayed there, licking that one angle until she was shaking and pushing at his shoulder. He still did not let her fall over. He eased off, kissed her inner thigh, and started at the bottom again, slow and filthy, gathering every drop. Every time she got close he changed what he was doing. He pulled his fingers out and only licked. He put his fingers back and took his mouth away. He pinched her nipple with one hand and held her open with the other and breathed on her wet clit until she whispered his name like a threat. “Aarush. I am going to come.” “No you are not.” He took her right to the edge. Her pussy clenched around his fingers. Her clit twitched under his tongue. Her whole body went tight against the mirror. Then he stopped. He pulled his mouth away. He left his fingers inside her, still, and kissed the inside of her thigh while she shook and tried to push down onto his hand. “Please.” “No.” He licked her once more, soft, almost kind, from her entrance up to her clit, and stopped again. Sushmita’s eyes were wet. Her chest rose and fell hard. The black and white one piece was wrinkled around her waist. The green dress hung on the hook behind his head. He stood and kissed her so she could taste herself. His mouth was shiny. Her lipstick was gone. “I like that dress on you,” he said, voice rough. “We are taking it. But you are walking out in the green one. No bra. No panties.” She could barely get the one piece off. The zip stuck once. He helped her, fingers slow on her back, then pulled the green dress over her head. The fabric clung to her damp skin. No bra. No panties. The neckline sat low. The hem sat high. In the mirror she looked wrecked and expensive at the same time. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put her soaked panties in his pocket. The black and white one piece went into the bag with the scarf, still warm from her body. “Walk.” She unlocked the door with fingers that did not feel like hers. The corridor light hit her face. Somewhere a child laughed. Sushmita stepped out in the green dress, thighs sliding together, clit still throbbing against the silk, unfinished and dripping, with Aarush one step behind her, the dress he liked folded in the bag, and the rest of the mall waiting.

Story Title:- No Panties In Palladium Summary:- Aarush takes Sushmita shopping. She is not wearing panties. He makes her try the black and white dress he likes, locks the trial room, puts his mouth on her, and leaves her dripping. She walks the mall unfinished. In the car she rubs herself while he drives. He only gets to look. At home she ties his wrists with the new scarf, sits on his face, and takes the afternoon back. Part1:- The One He Made Her Try The Wednesday sun sat heavy over Bandra when Aarush locked the apartment door. Sushmita stood in the lift in a short black dress and gold hoops, phone in one hand, the other already playing with the strap on her shoulder. The dress was not new. He had seen it before. Today it sat differently. Lower. Tighter across her chest. When she shifted her weight the hem climbed another inch up her thigh. “You are staring,” she said. “You dressed like you want me to.” She smiled at the lift mirror instead of him. “We are going shopping. Behave.” He did not behave. In the basement he opened the car door for her and let his palm slide from her waist to the back of her thigh as she sat. His fingers found bare skin. No stockings. Warm. Soft. She looked up at him and did not move his hand away. On the drive toward Lower Parel that hand stayed on her knee, then higher, then back to the knee whenever a signal camera flashed. Sushmita watched the road like a woman thinking about earrings. Under his palm her muscle kept jumping. “You are already warm,” he said. “It is Mumbai. Everyone is warm.” “Not like this.” His fingers traced the inside of her thigh once, slow, and stopped just short of the dress hem. She let out a small breath and crossed her legs over his hand, trapping it there for three seconds before she released him. “Behave,” she said again, weaker this time. Phoenix Palladium swallowed them in cold air and midweek noise. Perfume. Glass. Music too loud for conversation unless you leaned close. Sushmita leaned close on purpose. Every time they stopped at a rack she turned her mouth to his ear and said something small and filthy, then walked on as if she had only asked about a size. “I did not wear panties,” she said near the first display. Aarush stopped walking. She kept going, fingers trailing along a row of silk scarves. “I changed my mind in the bathroom before we left. You can think about that while I try clothes.” He caught up and put his hand on the small of her back. His thumb found the zipper and stroked it like a warning. She bought nothing in the first three shops. She only let him watch her hold fabric against her body, against her breasts, against the place between her legs where the dress clung when she turned. A sales girl asked if they needed a size. Sushmita said no without looking away from the mirror, because in the glass Aarush’s eyes were on the line of her throat. In a quieter corner near the trial rooms she took his wrist and guided it under the hem for one second. He felt heat. He felt wetness already gathered on her inner thigh. Then she pulled his hand away and wiped his fingers on her own dress like nothing had happened. “Not here,” she whispered. “Not yet.” They picked four things. A green slip dress that looked like water. A black one with thin straps. A long silk scarf the colour of old wine. And the one Aarush stopped her from putting back. It was a black and white one piece. Fitted. No sleeves. Black through the bodice, a sharp white panel cutting down the side and across the waist, the kind of dress that made her look taller and meaner at the same time. The tag was still on. The fabric had a little stretch. When Sushmita held it up against herself in the aisle light, the neckline sat just low enough that he forgot the other two dresses for a second. “This one,” he said. She looked at the price, then at his face. “You actually like this?” “I like this more than the rest. Try it first.” She smiled like she had won something small. “Then you are coming in. I will need the zip.” The trial corridor smelled of new cloth and disinfectant. Fluorescent light made everyone look a little guilty. Sushmita took the last cubicle, the one at the end, and left the door open half a second longer than she needed to. Aarush stepped in. She locked it. The space was ugly and bright. One stool. One mirror. A hook with the dresses. Her reflection already looked flushed. She turned her back to him. “Unzip me.” He did it slowly. The black dress she had worn from home loosened and slid down her arms. She wore a thin bra the same colour as her skin and nothing else. When the dress hit the floor she stepped out of it and faced him. Mumbai noise leaked under the door. A hanger scraped. A woman asked for size M. None of it mattered. She stepped into the black and white one piece and pulled it up over her hips. The fabric caught for a second on her thighs, then settled. Aarush drew the zip up her back, slow, watching the black close over her skin and the white panel lock in at her waist. She turned to the mirror and smoothed the front with both hands. It sat on her exactly the way he had thought it would. Tight across her chest. Clean at the waist. The hem high enough that when she shifted, the line of her thigh showed. She looked at herself, then at him in the glass. “So?” she said. “Do not take it off yet.” “That good?” He stepped in behind her, hands on her waist, mouth at her ear. “That good.” His palms moved up and covered her breasts over the fabric. The one piece was thin enough that he felt her nipples tighten through it. He squeezed once, slow, and she let her head drop back against his shoulder. In the mirror they looked like a couple who had only come in to check a size. His hands said otherwise. Aarush put her against the mirror. The glass was cold on her shoulders. His mouth was not. He kissed her until her lipstick smeared, then dragged his mouth down her throat and pulled the straps off her shoulders so the top of the one piece loosened. He tugged the bodice down just enough that her breasts sat over the black fabric, heavy and tight at the nipples. He took the left one into his mouth and sucked like he had been thinking about it since the lift. His tongue circled the tip, then he drew more of her breast in and sucked again, slower, wetter. His hand found the other and rolled the nipple between finger and thumb until she made a sound she had to swallow. “Quiet,” he said against her skin. “Or I stop.” “Do not stop.” He switched sides. The right nipple he treated with less patience. He sucked it hard enough that her back arched off the glass, then soothed it with the flat of his tongue, then sucked again. His other hand stayed on her left breast, squeezing, lifting, thumb brushing the wet tip he had just left. Sushmita’s fingers were in his hair. Her breath kept breaking against the top of his head. The black and white dress was bunched under her breasts now, the white panel wrinkled, the zip still half up her back. He dropped to his knees. The tile was hard. He did not care. He pushed the hem of the one piece up to her waist. He lifted one of her legs and set her foot on the stool, opening her. In that cheap white light her pussy was already shining. The outer lips were swollen. The inner ones were slick and dark pink. Her clit stood out from its hood. A thin line of wetness had already run down toward her thigh. He leaned in and just breathed her in first, the warm private smell of her, then put his mouth on her like the mall outside did not exist. The first lick was slow. He started at the bottom of her opening and dragged the flat of his tongue all the way up through her folds until he reached her clit. He did it again. And again. He was not in a rush. He wanted her dripping down his chin before she even tried the next dress. Sushmita’s hand slammed over her own mouth. Her other hand went into his hair and stayed there.

Making money is the easiest thing. Not because money comes without effort, but because money has a system. You can learn a skill. Build something. Sell something. Take a risk. Fail. Start again. Money can be lost and earned again. But finding genuinely good people is much harder. People who do not change when your situation changes. People who do not secretly compete with you. People who are genuinely happy when you grow. People who tell you the truth when everyone else is telling you what you want to hear. People who protect your name in rooms you are not sitting in. People who know your weakest parts and never use them against you. People who can sit beside you when you have absolutely nothing impressive to offer. Those people are rare. If life gives you even two people you can call at your worst without wondering whether you are disturbing them, you have already earned something most people spend their whole life searching for. Two people who pick up before the second ring because they know you would not call unless it mattered. Two people who have seen you broke, confused, angry, scared, completely lost, and still never made you feel smaller for it. That is wealth. And the older you get, the more you understand how much of life is replaceable. Money is replaceable. Jobs are replaceable. Businesses can be rebuilt. Opportunities return in different forms. But trust built over years cannot be recreated overnight. Loyalty cannot be purchased the day life becomes difficult. You cannot suddenly decide at forty that you want twenty years of friendship with someone. That investment had to begin years ago. So when you find good people, do not treat them casually. Invest in them. Give them your time before life becomes too busy. Call them when you do not need anything. Show up when there is nothing to celebrate. Remember who sat beside you before there was anything impressive about your life. And become that person for someone else too. Because the right people do more than make life less lonely. They make life bigger. One honest friend can save you from the wrong decision. One person who believes in you can keep you going when you are ready to quit. One trusted relationship can open a door no amount of cold networking ever could. One good conversation can change the direction of your career, your business, even your entire life. That is why I think people often get the order wrong. They chase money first and people later. But the strongest lives are usually built the other way around. First you find good people. Then trust grows. Trust turns into ideas. Ideas turn into collaboration. Collaboration creates value. Value creates reputation. Reputation creates opportunities. And when good people keep building good things together, money stops being the thing you desperately chase. It starts becoming the result of everything you built properly. Find good people. Keep them close. Be loyal to them. Grow with them. Build with them. Create value together. Protect the trust. Because when the people are right, the work gets better. When the work gets better, the opportunities get bigger. And when the value is real, money follows, my brother🤫🌺

मागणे काहीच नाही फक्त प्रयत्नाना यश दे, अंत तु, अनंत तु, अंतरीचा भगवंत तु🌺💖

Marriage asks a much harder question: “Can I keep choosing who you become?” Through new cities. Changed bodies. Lost people. Different dreams. Bad years. Beautiful years. Years where everything makes sense. Years where absolutely nothing does. And somewhere between all of that, two people slowly become witnesses to each other’s entire lives. Maybe one day the face beside you has lines that were not there when you first met. Maybe the voice has changed. Maybe both of you have become completely different people in a hundred small ways. But there is something incredibly beautiful about looking at that person and knowing, I remember every version of you that brought you here. And I loved more than one of them. That is what marriage means to me. Not finding someone you can spend a lifetime looking at. Finding someone whose mind, heart, fears, growth, contradictions and becoming you can spend a lifetime discovering. And after decades of knowing them, still having enough love left to say, “Tell me something about you I don’t know yet.” https://ngl.link/luvsociety2

Marriage, to me, is giving one person permission to witness every version of you. Not just the version they fell in love with. The version that is ambitious now, the version that might feel lost five years later, the version that succeeds, the version that fails, the version that becomes softer, quieter, stranger, older. And somehow saying, “Keep meeting me. I’ll keep meeting you too.” That is what makes marriage beautiful to me. Two people are going to change. A lot. The person you marry at 28 will not be exactly the same person sitting across from you at 38. Their fears will change. Their dreams will change. Even the way they need to be loved may change. So marriage cannot just be a promise to love who someone is today. It has to be curiosity about who they are still becoming. I think that is incredibly romantic. To spend years with someone and still ask questions. Still discover them. Still notice when something in them has changed. Still care enough to learn them again instead of complaining that they are no longer the person you first met. I don’t want marriage to mean knowing someone so well that there is nothing left to know. I want the opposite. I want to know someone deeply and still feel like there are entire parts of their mind I haven’t reached yet. Marriage should feel like having one person who has watched your entire history happen in real time. Someone who remembers the dream you had before anyone believed in it. Someone who knows why a certain date makes you quiet. Someone who remembers the version of you that existed before life changed everything. Someone who can look at you during a crowded dinner and know from one expression that you want to go home. That kind of knowing feels more intimate to me than romance itself. And I don’t think marriage is promising that neither person will ever hurt the other. Two imperfect people living one life together will eventually get things wrong. The promise is different. It is saying, “Even when I’m angry with you, I will remember that I love you.” “Even when I don’t understand you, I will try before I judge you.” “Even when life becomes difficult, I won’t make you feel like loving you is the difficult part.” That is the marriage I understand. Not two people constantly making each other happy. Two people becoming emotionally safe enough that happiness does not have to be performed. A place where you can say, “I’m not okay today,” and nobody gets scared of your sadness. A place where silence is not immediately mistaken for distance. Where needing space does not threaten love. Where vulnerability does not become ammunition during the next argument. Where the things someone tells you at their weakest are protected even when you are angry with them. That, to me, is sacred. And there is another part of marriage nobody romanticizes enough. Being remembered. Someone knowing you hate a particular thing and quietly keeping it away from you. Someone ordering for you because they already know. Someone noticing that you haven’t been yourself for three days before you have even admitted it to yourself. Someone remembering the tiny story you told them years ago. Someone slowly becoming the keeper of thousands of details about you that the rest of the world never even noticed. Imagine being known like that. Not watched. Known. And still chosen. I think that is why marriage feels bigger than a wedding to me. A wedding says, “I choose you today.”

Maybe the sky knows I’m bad at goodbyes, so it turns red when it’s time to go❤️

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Somewhere, my younger self is smiling, watching things that once felt out of reach quietly become ordinary days✨❤️

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Happy Janmashatmi🌺❤️

I could spend a lifetime beneath dying suns, listening to the sea swallow every last light🌺🦋