Introduce Yourself

                                    

                                          
Aisha sailed through the bustling streets of Mumbai, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the distant Bollywood tunes that filled the air. She had a plan, a thrill of excitement dancing in her dark eyes. Her boyfriend, the ever-so-obedient Rohan, trailed behind her, lugging a bag filled with her favorite snacks and a change of shoes. Aisha knew he'd do anything she asked, his love for her as vast as the Arabian Sea.
Entering the neon-lit nightclub, Aisha's eyes scanned the sea of faces, looking for the perfect audience. The air had the scent of sweat and perfume, the bass of the music thumping in their chests like a second heartbeat. Rohan fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting around, searching for a place to hide. But Aisha wasn't having any of that. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the center of the dance floor.
"Take a seat, Rohan," she said with a wink, pointing to the floor. The crowd parted, revealing a ring of plush velvet chairs, reserved for the VIPs. She settled into one, crossing her legs and patting her lap. Rohan looked around, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson.
"But, Aisha," he stuttered, his voice barely audible over the din, "this is for..."
"For me," she interrupted, her voice as sharp as a whip. "Now, be a good boy and sit."
With a gulp, Rohan lowered himself to the floor, his knees knocking together like a nervous teenager's. Aisha leaned back in her chair, surveying her kingdom. The club was a whirlwind of colors and lights, a place where the night's secrets were whispered and revealed.
"Now, tell everyone who you are," she said, her tone dripping with amusement.
Rohan's eyes grew wide. "What?"
"You heard me," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Introduce yourself."
With a sigh that was almost a whine, Rohan cleared his throat and announced to the room, "Hi, I'm Rohan. I'm Aisha's sissy boyfriend."
The laughter that followed was like a wave, starting with the people closest to them and crashing through the club. Aisha couldn't help but chuckle at his discomfort. She leaned down, her hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, and whispered, "Good boy. Now, let's see how much more fun we can have."
Rohan's heart raced as Aisha stood, her stiletto heels clicking on the floor as she walked to the bar. He watched her hips swing in a way that was both mesmerizing and intimidating. When she returned, she had a tray filled with drinks—each one a vibrant shade of pink.
"Here," she said, placing the tray on the floor next to her chair. "Serve me, sissy."
With trembling hands, Rohan picked up a glass and handed it to her, his eyes never leaving the floor. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving his, and then held it out for him to refill. The process was repeated over and over, each time with a little more flair and a little more volume from the surrounding crowd.
As the night went on, Aisha's demands grew more daring. She had him fetch her snacks, light her cigarettes, and even dance for her amusement. Each task was met with a mix of cheers and jeers from the onlookers, but Rohan did it all with a stoic expression, his love for Aisha shining through like a beacon in the foggy night.
The club's lights dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated Aisha's throne. The DJ announced a dance-off, and she knew it was time to up the ante. She grabbed Rohan's hand and yanked him to his feet. "You're going to dance for me, my little sissy," she said, her eyes glinting with mischief.
The crowd roared as Rohan stumbled onto the dance floor, his face a mask of embarrassment. But as the music began to play—a Bollywood classic that Aisha had chosen—something strange happened. He found his rhythm. His movements, once awkward, became fluid, as if he'd been dancing to this very tune his whole life.
The crowd's jeers turned to cheers as Rohan danced like a man possessed, his white shirt clinging to his sweaty body. Aisha couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. He was her sissy boy, after all, and he was putting on a show for her.