Fantasy Devika, a rich high class housewife, with angel heart

[Thilka]

When is next update?

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



The hostel room smelled of incense and unwashed laundry, a peculiar blend that neither Pathan nor Vishnu noticed anymore. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the half-drawn blinds, casting tiger-stripe patterns across the unmade bed where Pathan sprawled, his long legs stretched out, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Vishnu paced the narrow space between the bed and desk, his excitement too electric to allow him to sit still, his face animated as he relived the moment their professor had approached them in the laboratory.



"Man, I didn't think the plan would work out so easily," Pathan said, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling fan that slowly churned the stale air. "Did you see her face when she asked if she would be suitable? Like she couldn't believe we might find her attractive."



Vishnu paused his pacing, a smile spreading across his face that contained equal parts triumph and disbelief. "I know. I almost lost it when she started asking questions. Had to remind myself not to look too eager."



"Do you think she'll actually agree to do it?" Pathan asked, tapping ash into an empty soda can beside the bed. "She seemed interested, but fifteen lakhs is a lot of bullshit to back up if she asks to see the contract."



"She won't," Vishnu replied with confidence, resuming his circuit of the small room. "You heard her—she's 'considering it.' That's professor-speak for 'yes, but I need to pretend I'm thinking about it.'"



"But what if she talks to someone else about it? What if she mentions it to the department head?"



Vishnu shook his head, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "She won't. She's not in terms with her husband—he's been in Dubai for what, almost a year now? She needs no one's permission. No one can control her other than herself."



"Interesting," Pathan murmured, a new calculation visible behind his eyes. "So she's lonely. Neglected. That makes our job easier."



Vishnu's expression darkened slightly. "Just remember, this is my project. I'm the photographer. I can't wait to take photos of her in various poses." His fingers curled as if already holding his camera, already framing Devika's body through the lens. "The way she moves in that saree... it's like watching water flow over stones."



"And I," Pathan replied, his smile widening to reveal perfect white teeth, "am going to act as the male model. I can't believe the intimate poses I'm going to have with her." He stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned abdomen. "Just imagine it—my hands on her waist, my lips on her neck, her body pressed against mine..."



Something flashed in Vishnu's eyes—a sharp, sudden jealousy that he couldn't entirely conceal. He turned away, fiddling with his camera bag on the desk.



"Don't worry," Pathan said, noticing his friend's reaction. "We'll exchange roles as male models between us. No need to worry. You'll get your turn."



Vishnu turned back, his expression carefully neutral now. "It's not about that. I just need these photos to be perfect. The committee—"



"There is no committee," Pathan interrupted, rolling his eyes. "There is no agency, no contract, no fifteen lakhs. There's just us and a professor who's finally starting to see herself as a woman again."



"She'll still expect payment," Vishnu said, lower now, as if someone might overhear.



"We'll figure that out later," Pathan dismissed with another wave. "Maybe we can actually sell some photos to a local brand. Maybe we'll tell her the agency rejected them but we'll pay her a smaller amount from our own pockets." He grinned again. "She'll be so grateful for the attention by then, she probably won't even care."



Vishnu nodded slowly, convinced by this logic, his jealousy momentarily forgotten in the shared conspiracy. "If this works..."



"When this works," Pathan corrected, stubbing out his cigarette with finality. "When."



---



In her apartment across town, Devika stood at the window, watching evening gather in the streets below. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the cool glass as her mind circled back, again and again, to the conversation in the laboratory. Fifteen lakhs. Artistic poses. Intimacy with a male model—with Pathan, her student, whose eyes had followed the sway of her hips for months.



"A professor with a PhD," she whispered to her reflection in the darkening window, "posing for photos like some actress." The glass threw back a woman she was still learning to recognize—not just the professor, the academic, the wife, but something else emerging beneath these familiar labels. Someone with desires that didn't fit neatly into the boxes her upbringing had prepared.



She moved away from the window, her saree whispering against her skin as she paced the small living room. The saree poses seemed manageable, even comfortable. She wore sarees daily, knew how to move in them, how to arrange the fabric to flatter her curves. And strapless blouses, while new territory, weren't so far beyond her experience. She had worn sleeveless blouses before, had felt the cool air against her bare arms, the appreciative glances such styles attracted.



But the intimate poses with a male model—that would be harder. She was unaware what kind of intimate poses might be required, though Vishnu had mentioned hugging and kissing. That meant she would need to allow Pathan to kiss her, to hold her, to touch her body with a familiarity usually reserved for lovers.



"I can't," she said suddenly, stopping her pacing as resolution formed. "I should tell them no tomorrow. This has gone far enough."



But even as the words left her lips, other thoughts intruded. Memories of arguments with Anand before his departure for Dubai—his casual dismissal of her feelings, his multiple affairs barely concealed, his absence from their bed long before his physical absence from their home.



"He didn't want me," she whispered, the old pain still sharp despite the months that had passed. "Didn't desire me, didn't appreciate me."



Yet Vishnu and Pathan did appreciate her beauty—had noticed her movements, had selected her specifically because of how she embodied the grace they sought to capture. Their eyes followed her with hunger that her husband's never had, with admiration that felt like water to parched soil.



"Why not allow them to kiss me?" she asked herself, the question carrying less shock than it would have even a week ago. "Why not feel desired, even if it's just for a camera?"



And the money—fifteen lakhs would solve so many problems. Would give her the security she craved, the independence she needed if her marriage continued its slow collapse into nothingness.



Devika sank onto the sofa, her decision crystallizing with surprising clarity. "Yes," she said to the empty room, her voice stronger now. "I'm ready for whatever comes, within limits."



She would do the photoshoot. Would allow herself to be seen, to be admired, to be touched—not as Professor Devika with her PhD and her careful respectability, but as the woman emerging from beneath that protective shell, the woman who had tasted forbidden pleasures and found herself hungry for more.





# Scene 2



Morning arrived with deceptive normalcy, sunlight filtering through Devika's bedroom curtains in patterns that belied the unusual path her life had taken. She stood before her wardrobe, fingers trailing over the hanging sarees, searching for something that conveyed the appropriate professorial gravity while still acknowledging the new awareness she had of her body as an object of desire. She selected a deep maroon silk with a narrow gold border—conservative enough for the classroom yet rich in color, the fabric catching the light as it moved, drawing the eye to the curves beneath.



As she dbangd the saree around her body, Devika rehearsed what she would say to Vishnu and Pathan. The words formed and reformed in her mind, each version attempting to strike the perfect balance between professional distance and willing participation. She applied her makeup with unusual care, adding an extra sweep of kohl around her eyes, a deeper shade of lipstick than her usual subdued pink.



"It's just a photoshoot," she told her reflection, watching her lips form the words. "Just pictures. Nothing more."



But even as she spoke the reassurance, she knew it was a lie. This was more than pictures—it was a deliberate step across boundaries she had been raised to respect, a conscious choice to be seen not just as an educator but as a woman, with all the dangerous implications that carried.



When she descended the apartment building stairs, her bag clutched in one hand, the pleats of her saree arranged with precise care, Ramlal was already at his post by the entrance. His eyes lifted at the sound of her approach, recognition followed immediately by something darker, more intimate—a knowledge shared between them that transcended their public roles.



"Good morning, madam," he said, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. "You look very nice today. Special occasion?"



"Just a normal day, Ramlal," she replied, her own voice steady despite the memories his presence evoked—of kulfi melting between their tongues, of his saliva in her mouth, of boundaries dissolved in a single evening of exploration.



Ramlal's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile—the smile of a man who had tasted forbidden fruit and found it sweeter than expected. "If you say so, madam." He lowered his voice further. "But perhaps another evening with kulfi soon? I still have many flavors to show you."



Heat rose to Devika's cheeks, not entirely from embarrassment. "Please, Ramlal. Not here." She glanced around the lobby, though they were alone, the words emerging more breathless than she intended. "Someone might hear."



"No one is listening," he assured her, but he straightened, resuming his professional posture. "Have a good day at college, madam."



She nodded, moving past him into the morning sunlight, feeling his eyes following her progress down the street. The weight of his gaze, the knowledge it contained, felt simultaneously burdensome and thrilling—a secret carried just beneath her skin, visible to those who knew where to look.



At the college, the biology laboratory hummed with the familiar sounds of students preparing for their practical session—the clink of glass slides, the soft whir of microscope adjustments, murmured conversations about cellular structures and staining techniques. Devika moved through the space with practiced ease, distributing materials, offering guidance where needed, all while acutely aware of Vishnu and Pathan watching her from their workstation in the corner.



Their anticipation was palpable, barely contained behind the mask of student attentiveness. Pathan's eyes followed her movements with undisguised hunger, while Vishnu fiddled with his pen, tapping it against his notebook in an uneven rhythm that betrayed his nervous energy. They waited until the other students were absorbed in their work before approaching her desk, their expressions carefully collegeed to casual interest despite the tension vibrating between them.



"Professor," Vishnu began, his voice low, "have you had a chance to think about our discussion yesterday?"



Devika looked up from the papers she was arranging, meeting his eager gaze with deliberate calm. "Yes, I have."



"And?" Pathan pressed, leaning forward slightly, his hands braced on the edge of her desk.



She allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, watching anticipation build in their eyes. "I'm afraid my answer is no," she said finally. "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to participate in your project."



The disappointment that crashed across their faces appeared genuine—Vishnu's shoulders slumping, Pathan's expression falling into dismay so profound it seemed almost theatrical.



"I understand," Vishnu said, his voice hollow. "It was presumptuous of me to ask. I'll just have to tell the agency I couldn't find a suitable model."



"And lose the contract," Pathan added, shaking his head. "Twenty-five lakhs. Gone."



Devika looked between them, noting the calculated nature of their dejection, yet finding herself moved by it nonetheless. "I'm sorry. I know how important this opportunity is to you."



Vishnu nodded, already turning away. "It's fine, Professor. I'll figure something out."



"Wait," Devika said, the word escaping before she could reconsider. Both young men turned back, hope flickering in their eyes. "I've been thinking about your situation, about you losing this contract. It doesn't seem fair when I could help."



"What are you saying?" Vishnu asked, caution tempering his obvious excitement.



Devika drew a deep breath, steadying herself for what came next. "I'm saying I'll do it. I'll be your model."



The transformation was immediate—their faces lighting with triumph barely disguised as relief and gratitude. Vishnu actually clasped his hands together, as if in prayer.



"Really, Professor? You'll really do it?" he exclaimed, then immediately lowered his voice when a few students glanced their way. "You won't regret it. I promise I'll make these photos incredible—the committee will be blown away."



"I'm sure they will," Devika said, a hint of dryness in her tone that neither young man seemed to notice. "But I have conditions. This matter stays completely confidential. No one at the college can know about this arrangement."



"Absolutely," Pathan nodded vigorously. "Total secrecy. We promise."



"And the photos themselves," she continued, "must be used only for the purpose we've discussed. The agency selection committee and nowhere else."



"Of course," Vishnu agreed immediately. "That's part of the standard agreement. The images are totally protected."



Devika nodded, the decision settling into her bones with surprising weight. "Good. Then we have an arrangement."



"This is amazing," Vishnu said, unable to contain his excitement. "But we don't have much time. The committee's deadline is approaching fast. We need to start the photoshoot today."



"Today?" Devika repeated, surprised by the urgency. "I have classes until four."



"This evening would work," Vishnu pressed. "After your classes. You could come to my farmhouse—it's just outside the city. I have my photography setup there, with several location spots that would be perfect for the shoot."



Devika hesitated, alarm bells ringing faintly at the suggestion. "Your farmhouse? I'm not sure that's appropriate."



"It's the ideal location," Vishnu insisted. "Private, so no one will see us working together. And it has beautiful natural settings for the outdoor shots. Plus, no one will be there except me and Pathan."



The last point, intended as reassurance, only heightened Devika's unease. Alone with two young men who clearly desired her, far from the city, engaged in an activity that already pushed the boundaries of propriety—every rational instinct urged caution.



"The costumes are already there," Vishnu continued, sensing her hesitation. "You would only need to bring a few of your sleeveless blouses. Everything else will be provided."



"I don't know," Devika said, doubt creeping into her voice.



"Professor," Pathan interjected, his tone softening to something almost sincere, "we understand your concerns. But this is a professional photoshoot for a major campaign. We need the right setting to create images worthy of the brand. And time really is running out."



Devika looked between them, weighing her options. She had already decided to do this, had already crossed the mental boundary that separated professor from model. Did it matter where the photos were taken?



"Alright," she conceded finally. "This evening. But we focus on work—this is a professional arrangement."



"Absolutely," Vishnu agreed, his smile widening. "I'll text you the address. Say, six o'clock?"



"Six o'clock," she confirmed, already wondering what she had committed to, what new threshold she was preparing to cross in this continuing exploration of herself and her boundaries.



"Thank you, Professor," Pathan said, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. "You won't regret this."



As they returned to their workstation, Devika watched them go, noting the subtle triumphant glance they exchanged when they thought she wasn't looking. Whatever game they were playing, she had just agreed to be a participant. The knowledge should have frightened her, should have prompted immediate reconsideration. Instead, she felt only a strange, electric anticipation for what the evening might bring.





# Scene 3



The farmhouse appeared through the dusty windshield of Devika's taxi, a low stone structure nestled among mango trees whose branches hung heavy with unripe fruit. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across the gravel driveway where Vishnu and Pathan already waited, their postures betraying an eagerness that made Devika's stomach tighten with a mixture of apprehension and something else—a dangerous curiosity about what boundaries would be tested in the coming hours. As the taxi crunched to a stop, she gathered her small bag containing the sleeveless blouses she'd been instructed to bring, paid the driver, and stepped into the golden light of approaching evening.



"Professor! You came," Vishnu called, his voice pitched between surprise and delight, as if some part of him had expected her to change her mind. "Welcome to my family's farmhouse."



"Good evening," she replied, her tone deliberately formal, an attempt to establish the professional nature of their arrangement despite the intimate setting. She wore a simple cotton saree in deep blue, chosen for easy removal when changing into whatever outfit they had planned for the shoot.



Pathan stepped forward, taking her bag with a courteous gesture that nevertheless allowed his fingers to brush against hers. "We're so grateful you agreed to help us, Professor. The light today is perfect for what we have planned."



Devika glanced around the property, noting the isolated location. No neighboring houses visible, no witnesses to whatever might transpire here. The realization sent a small shiver down her spine—not entirely of fear.



"Can we start the photoshoot?" she asked, eager to move things along, to get through this strange interlude and return to the safety of her apartment. "I'd like to be home before it gets too late."



"Of course," Vishnu nodded, gesturing toward the house. "But first, there are a few formalities. Please, come inside."



The interior of the farmhouse was surprisingly well-appointed—polished stone floors, comfortable furniture that spoke of family wealth, and at the far end, a space that had been converted into a photography studio with lights, backdrops, and various props. Vishnu led her to a small desk where several documents lay waiting, neatly printed and stacked.



"What's this?" Devika asked, eyeing the papers with growing concern.



"Just standard modeling agreements," Vishnu explained, his tone reassuringly casual. "All professional photoshoots require them. The committee is very particular about these things."



He spread the documents before her, pointing to various sections as he explained. "This one is the standard model release form. This one confirms your agreement to the types of poses we discussed—you know, the more artistic ones. And this one," he hesitated slightly, "is about the timeline and completion requirements."



"Timeline?" Devika repeated, picking up the third document. "What does that mean?"



Vishnu exchanged a quick glance with Pathan before answering. "Well, the committee might request additional shots after seeing the initial set. These clauses just confirm that you agree to complete the full photoshoot process without, um, leaving in the middle. Standard industry practice."



Devika scanned the document, her unease growing as she read phrases like "multiple sessions as required" and "until satisfactory completion as determined by the client." She had imagined this as a one-time event, not an open-ended commitment.



"This suggests the photoshoot might take days or even months," she said, looking up with narrowed eyes.



"Only if necessary," Vishnu assured her quickly. "Most likely they'll love the first set and that will be it. But they need the guarantee that their selected model won't abandon the project halfway through."



"And if I refuse to sign?" Devika asked, her fingers hovering over the pen he had placed beside the papers.



"Then we can't proceed," Pathan interjected, his expression regretful. "The agency was very clear about this. No signed agreements, no photoshoot, no contract."



Devika hesitated, trapped in the momentum of her own decisions. She had come this far—had taken a taxi to this isolated farmhouse, had brought the blouses as instructed, had mentally prepared herself for being photographed in revealing poses. To turn back now felt both prudent and somehow impossible, a surrender to fear just as she was beginning to explore the woman who existed beyond the careful boundaries of Professor Devika.



"Fine," she said finally, taking up the pen. "But I expect copies of everything I sign."



"Of course," Vishnu agreed immediately. "I'll make copies before you leave today."



She signed each document, feeling as though she were signing away more than just image rights—as if each stroke of the pen was a step further from the woman she had been, toward someone unrecognizable yet strangely familiar, a self long buried beneath propriety and expectation.



Vishnu collected the papers with barely concealed eagerness, folding them carefully and placing them in a drawer which he then locked. "Perfect! Now we can begin. Pathan will show you to the changing room while I set up the first shot."



The "changing room" turned out to be a small bedroom with an attached bathroom. Her bag had already been placed on the bed, along with several sarees in rich, jewel tones, their borders heavier with embroidery than anything Devika typically wore.



"We thought we'd start with something simple," Pathan explained, hovering in the doorway. "Just you in the garden, wearing one of these sarees with your sleeveless blouse. Very classic, very elegant."



"I'll be ready in a few minutes," Devika said, her tone making it clear that he should leave.



Pathan nodded, backing out and closing the door. Alone at last, Devika leaned against the wall, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. "Just pictures," she whispered again, the mantra failing to convince even herself.



She changed quickly, selecting a deep green saree from those provided and pairing it with her own black sleeveless blouse. The mirror reflected a woman who looked both familiar and strange—her arms bare, the saree dbangd lower on her hips than she would normally wear it, revealing a sliver of midriff that her professional attire would never show.



When she emerged, Vishnu had set up his camera in the garden, facing a background of flowering jasmine climbing a stone wall. The sweet scent hung in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of recent rain. Pathan stood nearby, his eyes widening appreciatively as she approached.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, raising his camera immediately to capture her walking toward them, the evening light catching the gold thread in the saree's border. "Just like that, Professor. Very natural."



The first poses were indeed simple—Devika standing before the jasmine wall, her face turned slightly toward the setting sun; Devika seated on a stone bench, the saree arranged carefully around her; Devika with her hand resting against a tree trunk, looking thoughtfully into the distance. With each click of the shutter, she felt herself relaxing incrementally, lulled by the professionalism Vishnu and Pathan were currently displaying.



"Let's see how these look," Vishnu said after several minutes, reviewing the images on his camera screen. "Yes, beautiful, but now we need something with a bit more... character."



Pathan stepped forward, assuming the role of director. "Madam, for the next set, we need to show your navel," he said, his voice professionally neutral despite the intimate request. "The campaign specifically highlights traditional elements of beauty—the eyes, the waist, the navel."



Devika swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I see."



"Just lower the saree slightly," Pathan demonstrated with his hands, indicating a position just below her navel. "And arrange the pleats to frame it."



Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the saree, folding the waistband lower on her hips, feeling the cool evening air against the exposed skin of her abdomen. Vishnu and Pathan both stared, their expressions freezing momentarily as she revealed this intimate part of herself. Though they recovered quickly, resuming their professional demeanor, Devika had seen the naked desire that flashed across their faces, the momentary lapse that revealed their true intentions.



"Perfect," Vishnu murmured, raising his camera again. "Now, stand with your hands on your hips, arching your back slightly to stretch the torso and accentuate the navel."



Devika complied, feeling oddly powerful despite her vulnerability. The camera clicked rapidly as she held the pose, Vishnu circling to capture different angles, his breathing audibly quicker.



"Excellent," Pathan called, his voice slightly hoarse. "Now, look down, using both hands to 'adjust' the pleats at your waist."



She followed his direction, bending slightly forward, her fingers playing with the fabric that rested just below her navel. The pose felt deliberately provocative, designed to draw attention to the curves of her body, to the exposed flesh that no student should ever see of their professor.



"Beautiful," Vishnu breathed, the word barely audible over the rapid clicking of his camera. "Now with one hand playing with your hair, the other resting near your waist."



The poses progressed, each slightly more revealing than the last, each designed to showcase her body in ways that had nothing to do with the saree and everything to do with the men's desire to see their professor in increasingly suggestive positions. Despite her misgivings, Devika found herself responding to their appreciative gazes, to the undisguised admiration in their eyes as they directed her movements.



"Last pose for this set," Pathan said finally, his voice strained with controlled excitement. "Sit with your navel exposed and only lightly hold the saree border in your mouth."



Devika hesitated, the request crossing a line she hadn't anticipated. "In my mouth?"



"Yes," Pathan nodded, his eyes darkening. "It's a classic pose—suggests both innocence and sensuality. The contrast is what makes it powerful."



She settled onto the bench, arranging the saree as directed, then slowly raised the border to her lips, catching the fabric gently between her teeth. The silk felt cool against her mouth, the position absurdly vulnerable yet undeniably provocative.



Vishnu's camera clicked furiously, capturing the image from multiple angles, his breathing now unmistakably ragged. "Perfect," he kept murmuring, the word becoming a mantra. "Absolutely perfect."



When the final shot was taken, a strange silence fell over the garden. Devika released the fabric from her mouth, allowing it to fall across her shoulder, suddenly aware of how completely she had surrendered to their direction, how willingly she had posed her body for their gaze.



"I think that's enough for today," she said, rising from the bench, adjusting her saree to cover her midriff once more. "You said you'd send these to the committee?"



"Yes," Vishnu nodded, lowering his camera with what seemed like reluctance. "I'll send them tonight and let you know what they say. They might want more... different poses."



"Different how?" Devika asked, though some part of her already knew the answer.



"We'll discuss that when the time comes," Pathan interjected smoothly. "For now, we've got an excellent start. Thank you, Professor."



As Devika changed back into her blue cotton saree, she wondered what exactly she had committed herself to with those signed papers, what further boundaries these young men would ask her to cross in the name of art and commerce. The strangest part was not the apprehension she felt, but the undercurrent of anticipation that accompanied it—a hunger to be seen, to be desired, to explore the woman who emerged when Professor Devika set aside her carefully constructed identity and simply existed in her body, under the admiring gaze of men who saw her as she had never been seen before.

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



Morning sunlight illuminated Devika's classroom as she wrote chemical formulas across the blackboard, her chalk making precise strokes against the dark surface. She had arrived earlier than usual, seeking refuge in routine after a night of fitful sleep, her dreams plagued by numbers—fifteen lakhs repeating like a mantra—and vague images of herself dbangd in silk, camera flashes illuminating curves she normally kept hidden beneath modest layers. Every sound in the hallway made her stiffen, anticipating Vishnu or Pathan's appearance, though she knew they wouldn't approach her until the practical class later that afternoon.



She hadn't mentioned the proposition to anyone—not Saradha, who might have offered sensible advice; not Ramlal, whose hungry eyes would surely darken at the thought of her posing for photographs; certainly not Ganapathi, who had already kept her underwear like a sacred relic. The decision festered within her alone, alternately thrilling and terrifying her with each passing hour.



Her first two classes passed in a blur of lectures and student questions that she answered on autopilot, her mind elsewhere. She caught herself absently tracing the curve of her waist while explaining cellular division, dropped her hand quickly when she noticed a male student's eyes following the movement. Was she already thinking like a model, more aware of her body as something to be displayed rather than simply inhabited?



When the bell rang signaling the beginning of the practical class, Devika's stomach clenched. She gathered her materials with deliberate slowness, postponing the inevitable encounter. The corridor to the laboratory seemed longer than usual, each step bringing her closer to a decision she had already made but still couldn't fully accept.



Vishnu and Pathan were already there when she entered, heads bent together over a manila folder, their conversation cutting off abruptly at her appearance. Other students filtered in behind her, oblivious to the undercurrents flowing between professor and the two young men who now straightened, their faces arranged in careful neutrality that didn't quite mask the anticipation in their eyes.



"Good afternoon, Professor," Vishnu called, his voice carrying just enough deference to maintain appearances before their classmates.



Devika nodded in acknowledgment, busying herself with arranging microscope slides at the front table, grateful for the mundane task that gave her trembling hands purpose. She led the class through the day's experiment with practiced efficiency, explaining procedures, answering questions, maintaining the facade of normality while acutely aware of Vishnu and Pathan's eyes tracking her movements across the laboratory.



As students began their work, Vishnu approached her desk, the manila folder tucked beneath his arm. Pathan followed a few steps behind, glancing around to ensure other students were sufficiently distracted by their assignments.



"We have good news, Professor," Vishnu said, his voice lowered to prevent others from overhearing. "I showed the committee some preliminary test shots with another model yesterday—similar to what we'd do with you—and they were impressed."



"Test shots?" Devika whispered, confusion momentarily overriding her nervousness. "With another model?"



"Just to give them a taste of the concept," Vishnu explained, his fingers drumming lightly against the folder. "The model wasn't right, but they loved the aesthetic, especially..." he paused, his eyes briefly dropping to her waist before returning to her face, "the emphasis on curves in all the right places."



Despite herself, Devika felt a flush of pride warming her cheeks. To be considered superior to a professional model—to have her natural, untrained body preferred over someone who made their living from their appearance—was unexpectedly flattering.



"Don't look so pleased yet," Pathan interjected, stepping closer. "Vishnu's being modest. The committee liked the solo shots, but they're reserving judgment on the whole package until they see the couple photographs."



"My entire career depends on these photos," Vishnu added, his voice taking on an edge of genuine concern that made Devika wonder if perhaps this opportunity was less fabricated than she had initially suspected. "Twenty-five lakhs, Professor. My life is in your hands—both of your hands, really," he added, nodding toward Pathan.



"I'll give my best," Devika heard herself say, the words emerging before she'd fully considered them. "For the project."



Relief broke across Vishnu's face like sunrise. "Thank you, Professor. I knew we could count on you." He glanced around the laboratory again, then slid the manila folder across her desk. "These are some sample poses—the type of shots they're expecting for the couple portion. Perhaps you could review them before this afternoon?"



Devika's fingers hovered over the folder, suddenly reluctant to open it in the classroom where any student might glance over and see whatever images it contained.



"Go ahead," Pathan encouraged, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You should know what you're agreeing to."



With a steadying breath, Devika opened the folder and began to examine the photographs inside. Her eyes widened immediately, her breath catching in her throat. The images were far more explicit than she had imagined—professional models in poses that went well beyond suggestive into territory that bordered on erotic.



In one photograph, a woman in a half-unwrapped saree pressed against her male counterpart, their lips locked in what was clearly not a simulated kiss—tongues visible, eyes closed in apparent passion. Another showed the male model biting the woman's exposed shoulder, her head thrown back in simulated ecstasy, the pallu of her saree clutched in his fist.



Devika flipped quickly through the remaining photos, her heart hammering against her ribs. Each image seemed more intimate than the last—hands placed on private areas, bodies pressed together in unmistakable suggestion of desire, expressions of manufactured passion that nonetheless appeared startlingly genuine.



"These are..." she began, unable to find appropriate words.



"Artistic," Vishnu supplied helpfully. "Provocative but tasteful. That's what the committee is looking for—traditional beauty with modern sensuality."



"Hot," Pathan added bluntly, then quickly amended, "I mean, that's how they described the aesthetic they want."



Devika closed the folder, her fingers trembling slightly. What had she agreed to? These weren't merely suggestive poses—they were practically simulations of foreplay, captured on film for strangers to evaluate. And she would be performing these acts with Pathan, her student, while Vishnu directed and photographed them.



The thought should have horrified her, should have sent her backing away from the proposition with firm refusal. Instead, she felt a treacherous heat unfurling in her belly, a quickening of her pulse that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a darker, more primal anticipation.



"Yes," she heard herself say, the word emerging slightly breathless. "The poses are quite...intense."



"That's what the committee expects," Vishnu confirmed, mistaking her shortness of breath for apprehension. "If you're uncomfortable—"



"I'm not uncomfortable," Devika interrupted, surprising herself with the firmness of her tone. "I said I would help, and I will. These poses are...challenging, but I understand what's required."



Relief flooded Vishnu's face again. "Perfect. Then we'll see you at the farmhouse at four? Same location as before."



"I'll be there," Devika confirmed, sliding the folder back across the desk, eager to have the explicit images out of her possession before another faculty member entered the laboratory.



As Vishnu and Pathan returned to their workstations, satisfaction evident in their exchanged glances, Devika wondered what she had just committed herself to. These photographs went far beyond professional boundaries, beyond even the already crossed lines of propriety she had been exploring since arriving in Pune.



Yet even as alarm bells sounded in the rational part of her mind, another part—the part that had awakened in Ganapathi's small home during the storm, that had blossomed under Ramlal's reverent touch—whispered that perhaps this was exactly what she needed: an opportunity to explore this new dimension of herself under the safe pretense of art, of commerce, of helping a student's career.



Fifteen lakhs, she reminded herself, focusing on the practical benefit to silence her scruples. But even as the figure repeated in her mind, she knew it wasn't about the money anymore—it was about the woman she was becoming, the boundaries she was dissolving, and the unexpected freedom she was discovering in their absence.





# Scene 2



The farmhouse appeared exactly as Devika remembered it from her previous visit—sprawling, isolated, surrounded by enough vegetation to ensure privacy from prying eyes. She parked her scooter beside Vishnu's motorcycle, checking her watch—exactly four o'clock. Punctuality had always been her armor, a way of maintaining control when circumstances threatened to spin away from her. Today, as she approached the weathered wooden door with a canvas bag containing three different sarees dbangd over her arm, punctuality felt like her last tenuous connection to the professional woman she had been that morning, standing before students with chalk-dusted fingers explaining biological processes with clinical detachment.



The door swung open before she could knock, revealing Pathan's eager face. "Professor! Right on time."



He ushered her inside, where Vishnu was adjusting lighting equipment in what appeared to be the farmhouse's main living area, now transformed into an impromptu studio. White backdrop paper curved from the wall down across the floor, surrounded by softboxes and reflectors that cast an unnaturally even glow throughout the space.



"Perfect timing, Professor," Vishnu called without looking up from his camera settings. "We've just finished the setup."



Devika stood awkwardly near the entrance, suddenly unsure of her role in this unfamiliar scenario. In the classroom, her authority was unquestioned; here, in this strange hybrid space where her students were ostensibly the professionals, the power dynamics shifted beneath her feet like sand.



"Before we begin the couple shots," Vishnu said, finally looking up from his equipment, "we should capture some solo images first. Get you comfortable with the process."



Relief coursed through Devika—a reprieve, however brief, from the intimate poses she had seen in those sample photographs. "That seems sensible," she agreed, her voice steadier than she felt.



"For these first shots," Vishnu continued, approaching her with the confident stride of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, "we'll need you to wrap your saree more tightly. The camera loves structure, definition."



Devika blinked, taken aback by his directness. "You want me to adjust my saree?"



"Yes," Vishnu confirmed, gesturing toward her current dbang—professional, modest, entirely suitable for a college professor but apparently inadequate for their purposes. "Tighter across the hips, pleats more defined. Show your..." he hesitated, then continued with feigned professionalism, "your natural form."



A flush crept up Devika's neck at the strange intimacy of receiving instructions about her clothing from her student. The inversion felt almost dizzying—this young man telling her, his professor, how to arrange the garment she had been wearing since adolescence.



"I brought several options," she offered, lifting her canvas bag.



"The red one," Pathan suggested immediately, having apparently glimpsed inside. "With the gold border."



Vishnu nodded in agreement. "Perfect. And we have a changing area prepared for you in the back room."



The "changing area" proved to be nothing more than a corner of a bedroom screened off with a standing partition. Devika slipped behind it, listening to the murmur of male voices from the main room as she carefully unwrapped her work saree—navy blue with a subtle pattern—and unfolded the red silk she had packed. The fabric was richer than what she typically wore to teach, its deep crimson shot through with gold thread that caught the light with each movement.



She wrapped it with practiced movements, but this time, conscious of Vishnu's instructions, she pulled the pleats tighter than usual, tucking them firmly at her waist. The blouse she paired with it was sleeveless and more fitted than her usual style, leaving her arms bare and emphasizing her curves. Before she could second-guess herself, she tucked the saree lower on her hips, revealing her navel completely—a style she would never wear publicly but had seen in fashion magazines and films.



When she emerged from behind the partition, both young men fell silent, their eyes widening appreciatively. Devika felt exposed under their gaze, yet something in their obvious admiration bolstered her confidence. This was why they had chosen her, after all—her natural femininity, the curves that had been merely hinted at beneath her professional attire now deliberately emphasized.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, then cleared his throat. "Almost perfect. We need one more element." He crossed to a bag near his equipment and withdrew a pair of high-heeled sandals—golden, strappy, with heels at least three inches tall. "These should be your size."



Devika stared at the shoes, momentarily speechless. "You had these already? How did you know my size?"



Pathan and Vishnu exchanged a quick glance that spoke volumes. "We...estimated," Pathan offered lamely. "Based on your height."



The implication that they had discussed her feet, had purchased shoes specifically for her, added another layer of strangeness to the already surreal situation. Nevertheless, Devika accepted the sandals, slipping them onto her feet with hands that trembled slightly. The additional height changed her posture immediately, forcing her spine straighter, her hips tilted slightly forward.



"Now you look like a modern woman," Vishnu declared, circling her with an appraising eye that seemed far too experienced for his age. "Stunning."



"Let's not waste time with flattery," Devika said, discomfort making her tone sharper than intended. "We should focus on the photoshoot."



Vishnu nodded, returning to his camera while Pathan positioned himself near the lights, ready to adjust them as needed. "First pose," Pathan directed, slipping easily into the role of assistant director. "Turn your back to the camera and twist your head to look over your shoulder."



Devika complied, presenting her back to the lens while turning her face to look back at Vishnu. The click of the shutter felt strangely intimate, as if capturing something more significant than merely her physical form.



"Beautiful," Vishnu murmured, the camera continuing its rhythmic clicking. "Now, can you walk away from the camera? Slowly. Let your hips move naturally."



Devika began walking across the white backdrop, acutely conscious of the way the high heels affected her gait, exaggerating the sway of her hips. The rustle of silk against her legs, the unfamiliar pressure of the tightly wrapped saree, the knowledge that Vishnu's lens was capturing every movement of her body from behind—all combined to create a heady awareness unlike anything she had experienced before.



"Breathtaking," she heard Pathan whisper, not quite softly enough. The admiration in his voice sent an unexpected thrill through her body.



"Now lean against the wall," Pathan directed, his voice slightly rougher than before. "Hands raised above your head, back arched slightly, face turned toward the camera."



The pose felt provocative, vulnerable—offering her body to the camera in a way that would have been unthinkable just weeks ago. Yet as she arranged herself against the wall, arms stretched upward, back arched to emphasize the curve of her waist, Devika felt a strange power in this voluntary display.



"Arch more," Vishnu instructed, his finger hovering over the shutter. "Really emphasize your curve."



She arched further, feeling the stretch along her spine, the way it pushed her chest forward and accentuated her hips. The clicking of the camera accelerated, capturing her from multiple angles as Vishnu moved around her, his breathing audibly quicker.



"Perfect," he murmured. "Now, can you squat? Like this." He demonstrated briefly, a low position with knees spread slightly.



Devika hesitated, the position seeming unnecessarily exposing. "Like this? In front of the camera?"



"It's for artistry," Pathan assured her quickly, arranging several flowers on the floor. "You'll be picking these up, looking natural and earthy."



With the high heels still on, the squat was awkward, requiring her to balance carefully as she lowered herself. The saree pulled tight across her thighs, and she knew the position would reveal more of her legs than she had intended. Still, she complied, reaching for the scattered flowers with what she hoped appeared as natural grace rather than the strained discomfort she felt.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "Now, could you... maybe go on all fours? To reach that flower over there?"



Devika's eyes snapped to his face, searching for signs of mockery or lasciviousness, but found only earnest concentration. "On all fours?" she repeated, the words feeling foreign in her mouth.



"Back to the camera," Pathan clarified. "It's a common pose in high-fashion photography. Earthy, primal."



With a deep breath, Devika lowered herself to her hands and knees, reaching forward for a distant flower. The position felt absurdly vulnerable, her back arched, her body displayed in a way that seemed more suited to the bedroom than a photography studio. Behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath—from Pathan or Vishnu, she couldn't tell—followed by the rapid clicking of the camera.



"Turn to the side," Pathan directed after a moment. "Reach up to adjust your hair, look back at the camera."



The pose felt slightly more dignified, though no less revealing. As she raised her arms to gather her hair into a loose bun, Devika was acutely aware of how the movement pulled her blouse tight across her chest, how it exposed the curve where her waist met her hip.



"I think we need a break," Pathan announced suddenly, his voice strained. "Before we start the couple shots."



Vishnu lowered his camera, nodding in agreement. "Good idea. Professor, would you like to see the photos so far?"



Devika rose to her feet, adjusting her saree which had shifted during the more active poses. She approached the camera with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, unprepared for the images that appeared on its small screen.



The woman displayed there seemed like a stranger—sensual, confident, her body curved and twisted into poses that emphasized every feminine line. The red saree glowed against her skin, the tight wrapping revealing contours she normally kept hidden beneath more modest dbanging. In the photos where her back was to the camera, the curve of her hips and buttocks was unmistakably provocative, her posture transformed by the high heels into something almost aggressively feminine.



"Is that really me?" she whispered, more to herself than to the young men standing beside her.



"That's you, Professor," Vishnu confirmed, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of appreciation. "What do you think?"



Devika couldn't tear her eyes from the screen, from this transformed version of herself. "They're very..." she hesitated, searching for the right word, "revealing."



"They're beautiful," Pathan interjected firmly. "You're beautiful."



The compliment, delivered with such certainty, sent warmth spreading through her chest. Beautiful. Not merely attractive, not merely acceptable—beautiful. The word echoed in her mind as she continued scrolling through the images, her breath catching at the sight of herself on all fours, back arched like a cat, the lines of her body flowing with unexpected grace.



"Ready for the couple shots after our break?" Vishnu asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the heat she had glimpsed in his eyes while photographing her.



"Yes," Devika heard herself say, still mesmerized by the stranger on the screen, the woman who wore her face but moved with a confidence, a sensuality, she had never recognized in herself before. "I'm ready."





# Scene 3



The break stretched longer than necessary, a tacit acknowledgment of the tension permeating the farmhouse. Devika sipped water from a bottle Pathan had offered, her throat unexpectedly dry after the exertion of posing. In the corner, Vishnu adjusted his camera settings with meticulous attention, while Pathan rearranged the lighting, both young men stealing glances at her when they thought she wouldn't notice. The anticipation of what would come next—the couple poses she had seen in those sample photographs—sent electric currents of nervous energy dancing along her skin, raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the room.



"Are you comfortable continuing, Professor?" Vishnu asked finally, breaking the pregnant silence. His tone carried professional concern, though the intensity of his gaze suggested other emotions beneath the surface.



Devika straightened her spine, determined not to show hesitation now that she had come this far. "Yes, I'm fine. We should proceed."



"Good," Vishnu nodded, glancing toward Pathan. "The couple shots will be more... intimate than what we've done so far. More like those sample photos you saw earlier."



Though she had anticipated this, hearing it stated so directly sent a flutter of apprehension through Devika's chest. The sample photos had been explicitly sensual—bodies pressed together, lips meeting, hands exploring. And now she would recreate those poses not with a professional model but with Pathan, her student, whose eyes had tracked her movements through classroom and laboratory for months.



"I understand," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do my best."



"Pathan," Vishnu called, gesturing to his friend. "Your costume for these shots is just jeans. No shirt."



Pathan froze momentarily, his eyes darting to Devika as if gauging her reaction to this announcement. Then, with deliberate movements that suggested he was trying to appear casual, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a lean torso more muscled than Devika had expected. His skin gleamed golden in the studio lights, the definition of his chest and abdomen evidence of regular exercise that his usual loose clothing had concealed.



Devika averted her eyes, suddenly shy despite having just spent an hour posing provocatively for the camera. There was something more intimate about this moment—about watching her student undress, about knowing she would soon be pressed against that bare skin—that felt more transgressive than all the crawling and arching she had done earlier.



"Let's begin with something simple," Vishnu directed, raising his camera. "Walk together toward me, talking to each other, looking natural."



Pathan moved to Devika's side, close but not touching, a space of careful propriety between them. They began walking across the white backdrop as instructed, their steps awkwardly synchronized.



"This isn't working," Vishnu sighed after a few shots. "There's no connection. Pathan, put your arm around her waist—no gap between you. Walk together like you're..." he hesitated, then finished, "like you're a real couple."



Pathan's hand hovered near Devika's waist, hesitation evident in the slight tremor of his fingers. The confidence he normally exuded in class seemed to have deserted him now that he was faced with actually touching his professor in such an intimate way.



"What's wrong?" Vishnu demanded, lowering his camera in frustration. "We don't have all day."



"I'm sorry," Pathan mumbled, his hand still suspended in the air between them. "It's just..."



Devika turned toward him, suddenly aware that for all his bravado, for all the looks he had given her across the laboratory, Pathan was genuinely nervous. The realization shifted something inside her—a balance of power tilting back in her favor. He wanted this, clearly, had probably fantasized about touching her, but now that the moment had arrived, he was frozen by the reality of crossing this line.



"Don't be nervous," she said softly, her eyes holding his. "We need to make these photos convincing, remember?"



Pathan nodded, still hesitant.



Devika stepped closer, deliberately eliminating the space between them, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I know you've been waiting for this, haven't you? To feel how soft my hips are?"



His eyes widened at her directness, a flush spreading across his cheeks and down his bare chest. "Professor, I—"



"Place your hands on my waist," she instructed, her tone gentle but firm. "It's alright. It's for the photos."



The permission—or perhaps the command—broke through his hesitation. Pathan's hands settled on her waist, fingers spreading against the silk of her saree, thumbs pressing slightly into the exposed skin above her navel. The contact sent a jolt through Devika's body, a current of sensation that made her breath catch momentarily.



"Yes," she encouraged, "just like that."



They began walking again, Pathan's arm now wrapped around her waist, his fingers warm against her skin. The proximity made conversation easier, more natural, as they moved toward Vishnu's camera.



"Perfect," Vishnu nodded, the shutter clicking rapidly. "That's exactly the intimacy we need. Now, let's try something more dynamic. Pathan, stand behind her, embrace her from behind, hands on her waist."



Pathan released her and moved behind her as directed. After a moment's hesitation, his arms encircled her waist, hands settling just above her navel where the saree left her skin exposed. Devika felt his chest against her back, the warmth of his bare skin seeping through the thin fabric of her blouse. His breath tickled the nape of her neck, sending shivers cascading down her spine.



"Look back at him," Vishnu directed. "Turn your head like you're about to whisper something."



Devika twisted slightly in Pathan's embrace, looking up and back to meet his eyes. Their faces were inches apart, his expression a mixture of desire and disbelief, as if he couldn't quite comprehend that he was holding his professor this way, that she was allowing—even encouraging—his touch.



"Relax," she whispered, her words for him alone. "Enjoy this moment."



His grip tightened fractionally in response, fingers pressing more firmly against her skin. Behind them, Vishnu's camera continued its rhythmic clicking, capturing their intimate tableau from various angles.



"Now, hug from the side," Vishnu instructed after a few minutes. "Heads close together, like you're sharing a secret."



They repositioned themselves, standing side by side, arms wrapped around each other's waists. Pathan's hand settled confidently on her hip now, his initial nervousness apparently overcome. Devika allowed her own arm to encircle him, her hand resting against the warm skin of his waist, feeling the subtle contraction of muscles beneath her fingers.



"Closer," Vishnu urged. "Foreheads touching."



Devika tilted her head toward Pathan's, their foreheads meeting gently. The position brought their lips tantalizingly close, breaths mingling in the small space between them. His eyes were dark pools of undisguised want, no longer hiding the desire he had kept veiled in the classroom.



"What are you thinking?" she whispered, her words soft enough that Vishnu couldn't hear.



"That I can't believe this is happening," Pathan replied, his voice equally low. "That you're more beautiful up close than I ever imagined."



The simple honesty of his answer touched something in Devika, a vulnerability beneath the sensuality of the moment. Before she could respond, Vishnu's voice broke the spell.



"Perfect. Now for something more dramatic." He lowered his camera, considering them for a moment. "Pathan, go behind her again, but this time, place your hands on her saree where it's tucked at her waist."



Devika stiffened slightly, understanding immediately what this pose would entail. Pathan would be lowering her saree, exposing more of her skin than was already visible. It was a level of intimacy beyond what they had shared thus far, approaching the most provocative poses she had seen in the sample photos.



As Pathan moved behind her, she felt a moment of panic, a voice in her head asking what she was doing, how she had arrived at this point where her student was about to partially undress her while another photographed the process. Yet beneath the panic ran a darker current of excitement, of anticipation for the feeling of his hands on her body, for the thrill of surrendering to this moment.



"Hands on the tucked area," Vishnu directed, his voice sounding slightly strained. "Professor, lean back against him, rest your head on his shoulder."



Pathan's hands settled tentatively on her waist where the pleats of her saree were tucked securely. Devika closed her eyes, unable to watch Vishnu watching them, and leaned back against Pathan's chest. The solid warmth of him supported her as she rested her head against his shoulder, their bodies fitting together with unexpected naturalness.



"Now," Vishnu continued, "slowly lower the tuck of her saree with your thumbs, just enough to reveal the curve of her hip bones."



Devika's breath quickened as she felt Pathan's thumbs hook into the fabric at her waist, gently tugging downward. The saree loosened, slipping lower on her hips, exposing the gentle curve where her waist flared outward. The sensation of fabric sliding against her skin, of Pathan's fingers brushing against newly revealed flesh, sent liquid heat pooling low in her belly.



She felt him bend his head slightly, his face close to her neck, and then—unexpectedly—the warm press of his nose against her skin, inhaling deeply as if to capture her scent. The intimate gesture wasn't part of Vishnu's directions, but she made no move to stop him, her body responding with a slight arch that pressed her more firmly against him.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "Hold that pose."



They remained frozen in this tableau of restrained desire—Devika leaning back against Pathan's bare chest, her saree lowered provocatively on her hips, his face bent to her neck, hands splayed possessively across her newly exposed skin. The moment stretched, charged with possibilities, with unspoken offers and requests hovering in the heated air between them.



"I think that's enough for today," Vishnu announced finally, lowering his camera. "We've got plenty of material to start with."



The words broke the spell that had enveloped them. Pathan's hands reluctantly withdrew from her waist, allowing Devika to straighten and adjust her saree back to a more modest position. The loss of contact left her feeling strangely bereft, her skin still tingling where his fingers had pressed.



"Would you like to see the photos?" Vishnu offered, gesturing toward his camera.



Devika nodded, smoothing her hair with hands that weren't quite steady. She approached as Vishnu began scrolling through the images, displaying the progression of their poses from the initial awkward walking to the final intimate embrace.



The photos were startlingly beautiful—artistic compositions of light and shadow that transformed their poses into something more than merely provocative. In the images where Pathan stood behind her, his hands at her waist, her head tilted back against his shoulder, there was an undeniable sensuality but also a vulnerability, a surrender captured in the slight parting of her lips, in the way her body yielded to his support.



"These are..." she began, searching for a word that could encompass her conflicted feelings.



"Perfect," Vishnu finished for her, clearly pleased with the results. "The committee will be impressed, I'm sure of it."



Devika stepped back, suddenly aware of how thoroughly she had abandoned her professional persona during the shoot. She had not merely posed as directed but had actively encouraged Pathan's touch, had invited his hands on her body with words meant for lovers, not for student and teacher.



"I should go," she said abruptly, gathering her bag with the other sarees she hadn't even used. "It's getting late."



Neither young man tried to stop her as she retreated to the partitioned corner to change back into her more modest navy saree. When she emerged, Vishnu was already packing his equipment while Pathan, now wearing his shirt again, stood awkwardly by the door.



"Thank you, Professor," he said quietly as she approached. "For everything."



The simple gratitude carried layers of meaning—thanks not just for her participation but for her encouragement, for allowing him to touch her in ways he had likely only imagined before today. Devika merely nodded, unable to find appropriate words for this inappropriate situation.



As she drove her scooter back toward her apartment, the sensations of the photoshoot remained vivid—Pathan's hands on her waist, his breath against her neck, the gentle tug as he lowered her saree. The memory sent renewed heat coursing through her body, along with a disturbing awareness that this was only the beginning. The sample photos had shown far more intimate poses than what they had attempted today—kisses, bites, embraces that simulated passion rather than merely suggesting it.



What would tomorrow bring? How much further would she allow this to go? And perhaps most troublingly, why did the thought of those future sessions fill her with anticipation rather than dread?

[Sage_69]

Extremely hot. Eagerly waiting to see Devika becoming closer to her students and sharing hot moments with them.

[Emulove]

Superb... Plz update regularly that's all we ask

[Thilka]

Eagerly waiting for next update

[StoryReader1]

Pls continue

[Emulove]

Bro update plz

[Thilka]

Today update possible?

[Mahesh]

Wow excellent bro

[Emulove]

Bro plz update today

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[Thilka]

Today update possible ah ?

[Emulove]

Bro plz update today.... It's been a long time already

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



Morning sunlight filtered through the laboratory windows, casting long rectangles across the polished floor as Devika arranged microscope slides with mechanical precision. Her fingers moved through the familiar routine while her mind remained trapped in yesterday's farmhouse, replaying moments that should have embarrassed her but instead left her skin tingling with remembered sensation—Pathan's hands at her waist, his breath warm against her neck as he lowered the tuck of her saree. She had barely slept, her dreams filled with flashes of studio lights and the click of Vishnu's camera capturing poses she never imagined adopting, especially not with her own students.



The practical class was already underway, students bent over their microscopes with varying degrees of concentration. Devika moved between the benches, offering guidance where needed, though her responses came automatically, her thoughts elsewhere. When the laboratory door opened to admit Vishnu and Pathan, her heart performed a strange little stutter that she immediately attempted to suppress. Their faces were uncharacteristically somber, and they exchanged glances that sent a ripple of unease through her body.



They waited until the other students were absorbed in their work before approaching her desk, their footfalls deliberately quiet on the tiled floor.



"Professor," Vishnu began, his voice low, weighted with apparent disappointment. "I've received feedback from the committee about yesterday's photos."



Devika's fingers tightened around the pen she'd been using to mark attendance. "Already? That was quick."



"They held an emergency review session this morning." Vishnu glanced at Pathan, who nodded confirmation. "I'm afraid it's not good news."



"What do you mean?" Devika asked, her throat suddenly dry. "Did something go wrong with the images?"



"Everything was technically perfect," Vishnu assured her, sliding onto a stool opposite her desk. "The lighting, the composition, the technical aspects were all praised. But..." He hesitated, his expression carefully arranged to convey reluctant messenger rather than architect of whatever was coming next.



"But what?" Devika pressed, aware of Pathan hovering nearby, his eyes studying her face with unusual intensity.



"They're going to reject the proposal," Vishnu said flatly. "The contract—the twenty-five lakhs—it's all going to fall through unless we make significant changes."



The figure echoed in Devika's mind—fifteen lakhs for her portion alone, financial independence that had seemed within reach just yesterday. "I don't understand. You said the photos were perfect."



"Perfect technique," Vishnu clarified. "But they said we didn't utilize you properly. The committee felt there was no real... intimacy in the photos."



"No intimacy?" Devika repeated, heat rising to her cheeks. "But we were embracing, your hands were on my waist, we were—" She stopped, suddenly conscious of how inappropriate this conversation was in the laboratory, though thankfully no students seemed to be paying attention.



"I know," Vishnu sighed, running a hand through his hair in apparent frustration. "I showed them everything. The walking together, the hugging, even the shots where Pathan lowered your saree tuck slightly. They acknowledged you were beautiful, exactly the type of model they wanted, but said the poses were just... couple photos."



"What else would they be?" Devika demanded, confusion mingling with indignation. "Isn't that what they asked for?"



Vishnu leaned closer, lowering his voice further. "Apparently, I misunderstood the brief. They weren't looking for just any couple. The campaign's theme is more specific—they want to portray a young, married, lonely wife having an affair."



"An affair?" Devika echoed, the word feeling strange on her tongue.



"Yes," Vishnu confirmed. "They want more than just love—they want to see love mixed with lust, forbidden desire. A married woman surrendering to passion outside her marriage. The photos need to convey that transgression, that abandonment of propriety."



Devika's breath caught in her throat, the implications washing over her like hot water. "You're saying they want more explicit poses."



"Much more," Pathan interjected, speaking for the first time. "The committee was very clear. They want the kind of intimacy that suggests a real affair, not just models posing."



Devika stared at them both, her mind racing. She had already gone far beyond what she'd initially imagined, had allowed her student to partially undress her, to touch her in ways that crossed professional boundaries. What more could they possibly want?



"I already exposed my navel," she said, her voice pitched low with indignation. "I allowed Pathan to put his hands on my waist. He even lowered my saree tuck. What else could they possibly expect?"



Vishnu shook his head, his expression a mask of regret. "I know, Professor. You've already done more than we had any right to ask. That's why I've decided to drop the project."



"Drop it?" The words felt like stones in her mouth.



"Yes," Vishnu confirmed. "We can't ask you to go further than you already have. It wouldn't be right. You're our professor, not a professional model accustomed to these demands."



His apparent consideration, his willingness to abandon the project rather than push her further, struck Devika as both touching and frustrating. The fifteen lakhs that had seemed within her grasp was slipping away, and with it the financial independence she craved.



"What exactly would be required?" she heard herself ask, the words emerging before she could reconsider.



Vishnu and Pathan exchanged a glance that contained volumes of unspoken communication. "More intimate poses," Vishnu said carefully. "The kind that suggest real passion, real... desire."



"You mean kissing," Devika stated flatly, not a question.



"Among other things," Pathan confirmed, his eyes never leaving her face. "But as Vishnu said, we respect you too much to ask that. We'll find another way, another project."



A war raged inside Devika's chest—propriety battling desire, financial need wrestling with professional boundaries. She had already crossed lines she never imagined crossing; would a few more steps really make such a difference? And fifteen lakhs was fifteen lakhs—enough to transform her precarious financial situation into something stable, secure.



"You haven't done anything wrong," she said finally, the decision crystallizing within her even as she spoke. "Everything that's happened has been with my permission. No one has been hurt."



Hope flickered across Vishnu's face, quickly masked. "That's kind of you to say, Professor, but—"



"We can't give up on this contract," Devika interrupted, surprising herself with her firmness. "Not when we've already come this far."



"Are you saying...?" Pathan began, leaving the question deliberately unfinished.



"I'm saying we should focus on making the photoshoot work," Devika clarified, already rationalizing this new boundary she was preparing to cross. "If the committee needs more... convincing intimacy, then we'll provide it."



The triumph that flashed between Vishnu and Pathan was barely concealed, so quick that had Devika not been watching closely, she might have missed it entirely. In that moment, she understood with perfect clarity that she was being manipulated, guided step by step toward their desired outcome. Yet knowing this didn't stop her—if anything, it added a layer of perverse excitement to her decision.



"We'll make this work," Vishnu said, his voice suddenly energized. "Same time today? Four o'clock at the farmhouse?"



Devika nodded, already wondering what new boundaries would be crossed, what new territories would be explored in the name of art, of commerce, of fifteen lakhs that seemed to justify everything.



"Four o'clock," she confirmed, turning back to her notes as the young men retreated, their mission accomplished, their prize secured for another day.





# Scene 2





The farmhouse appeared unchanged from yesterday, its weathered exterior revealing nothing of the boundaries that had been crossed within its walls. Devika parked her scooter beside Vishnu's motorcycle, the familiar arrangement creating an illusion of routine that belied the extraordinary nature of their encounters. Her hand rose unconsciously to her neck, fingers brushing against the thin gold chain of her mangalsutra—the symbol of her marriage to Anand, who remained distant in Dubai, both physically and emotionally. She hadn't removed it for the previous photoshoot, hadn't even considered it relevant. Today, somehow, its presence felt heavier, more significant, as if it were aware of the transgressions she was contemplating.



Vishnu opened the door before she could knock, his eager smile betraying the anticipation he'd likely felt since their conversation in the laboratory that morning.



"You came," he said, as if there had been genuine doubt.



"I said I would," Devika replied, stepping past him into the now-familiar impromptu studio. The white backdrop paper curved seamlessly from wall to floor, softboxes positioned to eliminate shadows, to reveal everything in unforgiving clarity.



"Same preparation as yesterday," Vishnu instructed, gesturing toward the partitioned corner that served as her changing area. "Tight saree wrap, sleeveless blouse, high heels."



Devika nodded, accepting the directive with surprising ease. Yesterday's hesitation had dissolved, replaced by a strange resignation—perhaps even anticipation—for what was to come. She selected a deep green silk saree from her bag, its gold border glinting in the studio lights as she disappeared behind the partition.



As she changed, she heard the murmur of male voices from the main room—Vishnu and Pathan discussing something in tones too low to distinguish. Their words carried the rhythm of disagreement, though no voices were raised. When she emerged, tightly wrapped in the green silk that clung to every curve, the gold sandals adding inches to her height, she found the atmosphere subtly altered.



Vishnu stood shirtless beside the white backdrop, wearing only jeans riding low on his hips. Pathan held the camera, adjusting settings with the focused attention of someone deliberately avoiding eye contact.



"There's been a change in plans," Vishnu announced, his bare chest gleaming under the studio lights. "I'll be the male model today. Pathan will handle the photography."



Devika's eyes shifted between them, noting the tight set of Pathan's jaw, the barely concealed triumph in Vishnu's stance. "Why the change?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer had little to do with the committee's preferences and everything to do with the young men's desire to touch her.



"The committee suggested using multiple male models," Vishnu explained smoothly. "They want to see how you interact with different partners. It helps sell the concept of the affair more convincingly."



Pathan looked up from the camera, his expression carefully neutral. "Different chemistry with different men," he added, his voice flat. "More variety for them to choose from."



Devika nodded slowly, accepting the explanation without necessarily believing it. She suspected the young men had some arrangement between them—perhaps taking turns in the coveted role of touching their professor under the guise of art.



"Fine," she said, moving toward the backdrop. "Let's begin."



She took her position, prepared for the usual instructions about walking or posing, but Pathan's attention had fixed on her neck, on the thin gold chain that held the small pendant.



"Your mangalsutra," he said suddenly, a new idea visibly forming behind his eyes. "We should incorporate it."



"My mangalsutra?" Devika's hand flew to her neck, fingers curling protectively around the symbol of her marriage. "Why?"



"The theme is a married woman having an affair," Pathan explained, his voice gaining confidence as he developed the concept. "What better way to emphasize that than by making her marriage symbol part of the seduction?"



Devika felt her breath catch, a mixture of shock and something darker, more complicated, flowing through her veins. Using her mangalsutra in these provocative photos seemed a step beyond what she had already agreed to—not just posing intimately with her students but actively involving her marriage in the performance.



She hesitated, thoughts of Anand flashing through her mind—his emotional distance even before his physical departure for Dubai, the increasing rarity of his calls, the perfunctory nature of their conversations when they did speak. The mangalsutra around her neck sometimes felt like the only evidence that she was, indeed, married.



"Alright," she heard herself say, the decision feeling like stepping off a cliff into open air. "We can use it."



The gleam in Vishnu's eyes intensified, his gaze dropping to the slender chain with newfound interest, as if seeing it—truly seeing it—for the first time. "Perfect," he breathed.



Pathan positioned himself behind the camera, his disappointment at the role change apparently forgotten in the excitement of this new transgression. "First pose," he directed. "Vishnu, pull her toward you by the mangalsutra."



They stood facing each other, Devika and Vishnu, professor and student, separated by propriety that grew thinner with each passing moment. Vishnu's hand rose slowly to her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin before capturing the thin gold chain. His eyes never left hers as he wrapped the chain around his finger and pulled gently, drawing her closer with inexorable pressure.



Devika allowed herself to be drawn forward, her neck arching toward him as the chain tightened slightly. She parted her lips, remembering they were supposed to be portraying lust, and found the expression came more naturally than she had expected. Her body responded to the gentle tension around her neck, to the sense of being claimed by this pull on her marriage symbol.



"Good," Pathan murmured from behind the camera. "Now arch more toward him, like you're hungry for him."



She complied, leaning further into the pull, her chest brushing against Vishnu's bare skin. The contact sent a jolt through her body—the heat of him, the surprising firmness of his muscles beneath smooth skin, so different from Anand's softer frame.



"Perfect," Pathan breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "Now, Vishnu, grab the mangalsutra in one hand and hug her waist with the other."



Vishnu released the tension on the chain only to capture the pendant between his fingers, holding it like a trophy while his other arm wrapped around Devika's waist. His palm spread across the bare skin of her back where her blouse ended, fingers pressing into flesh that had known only her husband's touch for years.



Devika watched his eyes widen slightly at the sensation—the softness of her skin, the warmth that radiated through his fingertips. She felt his indrawn breath, saw the flare of his nostrils, recognized the signs of masculine appreciation with a flutter of feminine pride.



"Look into each other's eyes," Pathan directed. "Maam, give him an annoyed look—like you're bothered by his presumption in touching your mangalsutra, but not enough to stop him."



Devika narrowed her eyes, summoning an expression of irritation that felt like playacting even as it appeared genuine. How strange, she thought, to be directed to perform emotions in this context—as if they were actors in a film rather than professor and student engaged in increasingly inappropriate contact.



"Now," Pathan continued, his voice taking on a husky quality, "Vishnu, hold the mangalsutra pendant between your teeth. Give a wicked smile. Professor, look shocked, like this crosses a line."



Vishnu lowered his head, capturing the small pendant between his teeth. The action brought his face close to her chest, his breath warm against her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. He looked up at her from this position, eyes gleaming with undisguised pleasure at the transgression, at the symbolism of her marriage token caught between his teeth.



Devika didn't need to fake her shock—the sight of her student with her mangalsutra between his teeth sent a genuine bolt of alarm through her body. This was a boundary she hadn't anticipated crossing, a use of her marriage symbol that felt sacrilegious even within the context of their already inappropriate arrangement.



"Perfect reaction," Pathan praised, the camera clicking continuously. "Now, Vishnu, move behind her. Pull her mangalsutra from behind while she tries to move away."



Vishnu released the pendant from his teeth and circled behind her, his movements fluid with newfound confidence. He gathered the chain in his fingers, pulling back gently as Devika leaned forward, creating tension between them—her body straining away while the mangalsutra held her captive.



The symbolism wasn't lost on any of them—her marriage binding her even as she pretended to seek escape. The chain pressed against her neck, not painfully but with enough pressure to remind her constantly of its presence, of its meaning, of the boundaries they were demolishing with each new pose.



"Now hold it with your teeth," Pathan instructed, his voice dropping lower. "Pull her back against you with your hands on her waist."



Vishnu gathered the chain between his teeth, using the gentle pressure to guide her back against his chest. His hands found her waist, fingers spreading possessively across her midriff, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her navel where the saree left her exposed.



Devika felt the heat of him all along her back, the press of his bare chest against her blouse, his breath on her neck as he held her mangalsutra between his teeth. The intimate position—his body curved around hers, her marriage symbol captured in his mouth—sent confused waves of shame and excitement coursing through her veins.



"Hold that," Pathan breathed, the camera clicking rhythmically. "Perfect tension."



And tension there was—not just in the arch of her body or the pull of the chain, but in the atmosphere surrounding them, charged with unspoken desire and the thrill of transgression that grew with each new boundary they crossed.





# Scene 3



"Maam, next will be more intimate than this," Pathan announced, lowering the camera briefly. "We need a few kissing shots." The words hung in the air between them, heavier than they should have been given how far they had already gone. Devika's lips tingled with phantom sensation—not of Vishnu's mouth, which had yet to touch hers, but of Ramlal's—the security guard who had introduced her to the pleasure of real kissing just days before. How strange that she should be contemplating her second kiss in years with another man who was not her husband, this time her own student. The transgression seemed both greater and somehow less significant after everything that had already transpired between them.



"Kissing?" she repeated, the single word emerging more breathless than she'd intended.



"For authenticity," Vishnu added quickly, still standing close behind her, the warmth of his bare chest radiating against her back. His fingers had released her mangalsutra, but remained hovering near her neck, as if reluctant to break contact entirely.



Devika swallowed, considering the proposition. She had already crossed so many lines—allowing Pathan's hands on her waist yesterday, permitting Vishnu to pull her by her mangalsutra today. What difference would lips against lips make in this cascade of broken boundaries?



"I'm ready," she said, the decision made even as uncertainty lingered in her voice.



Pathan nodded, his expression difficult to read—disappointment at not being the one to kiss her, perhaps, or anticipation of capturing the moment when his friend's mouth met their professor's. "Vishnu, hold one end of the mangalsutra dollar with your teeth. Maam, you hold the other end with yours. Face each other in a hugging position."



Vishnu moved to stand before her, his arms encircling her waist with newfound confidence. He gathered the pendant of her mangalsutra—the small gold disk that symbolized her married status—and raised it to his mouth, capturing one edge between his teeth. The gold gleamed against the whiteness of his smile, a startling contrast that emphasized the sacrilege of what they were doing.



Devika leaned forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. The pendant was small, barely large enough for both of them to hold simultaneously. She opened her mouth, taking the opposite edge between her teeth, immediately aware of how close this brought their lips—mere millimeters apart, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them.



Vishnu's eyes locked with hers, dark and intent, communicating something beyond the pretense of the photoshoot. His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer until their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. The pendant between their teeth forced an intimacy that made Devika's pulse quicken—their lips so close they brushed accidentally with the slightest movement, the warmth of his breath washing over her face, carrying the faint scent of paan he must have chewed earlier.



"Perfect," Pathan murmured, the camera clicking rapidly. "Hold that tension. Let me capture the anticipation."



Tension was certainly the right word. Devika felt every point of contact between them with heightened sensitivity—Vishnu's hands splayed across her lower back, his chest firm against her breasts, his thighs pressing against hers through the silk of her saree. But most acutely, she felt the near-touch of their lips, the slight pressure where they occasionally brushed as one of them adjusted their grip on the pendant.



"Now stay completely still," Pathan directed. "I want to capture this exact moment—the edge of surrender."



They remained frozen, connected by the small gold disk between their teeth, by the heat of their bodies pressed together, by the growing charge in the air between them. Devika felt Vishnu's heartbeat accelerate against her chest, matching the quickening rhythm of her own.



"Next," Pathan continued after several long moments, "Devika, keep holding the dollar between your teeth. Vishnu, release it and lick the other end of the dollar while she holds it."



Vishnu released the pendant carefully, ensuring Devika maintained her grip on it with her teeth. Then, with deliberate slowness, he extended his tongue, pink and slightly rough-looking, toward the gold disk suspended from her mouth. The first contact of his tongue against the metal sent a strange jolt through Devika's body—the knowledge that he was tasting something that had hung against her skin every day, that had rested between her breasts, that symbolized her connection to another man.



His tongue traced the circular edge of the pendant, occasionally brushing against her lips where they held it, each fleeting contact sending sparks dancing along her nerve endings. His eyes never left hers, watching her reaction to this intimate violation of her marriage symbol.



"Maam, you can release your mangalsutra now," Pathan said after capturing several shots of this tableau. "For the next pose, Vishnu will kiss you on the cheek—firmly—while you pretend to avoid his attention."



Devika let the pendant fall from her teeth, grateful for the momentary respite from the intensity of their near-kiss. But before she could fully recover, Vishnu's hands were cradling her face, turning it slightly away from him as if she were attempting to escape his advances.



"Resist me," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness despite the charged atmosphere. "But not too much."



She tensed her neck muscles, creating genuine resistance against his guiding hands, playing her part in this performance of reluctant desire. Vishnu leaned in, pressing his lips against her cheek with unexpected firmness. Rather than the light touch she had anticipated, he kissed her hard, his lips parting slightly to suck at her skin. One hand moved to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair to hold her in place as his mouth worked against her cheek with surprising intensity.



"Good," Pathan encouraged, circling them with the camera. "Vishnu, more passion. Maam, more struggle."



Vishnu responded immediately, his kiss becoming more aggressive, teeth grazing her skin as he moved from her cheek toward her jawline. Devika twisted in his grasp, not entirely acting now as she tried to evade the unexpected intensity of his attention. His hold tightened, refusing to allow her escape, his mouth hot and demanding against her skin.



When he finally released her, Devika's cheek glistened with his saliva, the skin slightly reddened from the pressure of his lips and teeth. She raised a hand to the spot, feeling the lingering warmth, the slight tenderness.



"Perfect chemistry," Pathan praised, lowering the camera briefly. "Now we need a short video segment. Vishnu, I want you to try kissing her all over her face while she attempts to evade you. Both of you should deliver dialogue that suggests an affair—the tension between desire and reluctance."



Devika's heart raced at the prospect. This was moving beyond posed photographs into something that would capture their voices, their movements, the reality of their interaction rather than just frozen moments.



"Action," Pathan called after adjusting the camera settings.



Before Devika could prepare herself, Vishnu's mouth was on hers—not her cheek as she had expected, but directly on her lips, firm and insistent. The shock of the contact paralyzed her momentarily, her mind registering that this was only the second man to kiss her lips in years, the first being Ramlal with his paan-sweetened mouth. Vishnu's kiss held the same hint of paan, but with a youthful eagerness that Ramlal's had lacked.



When she failed to respond immediately, Vishnu moved on, his lips trailing across her cheek, down to her neck, up to her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose—raining kisses across her face with apparent hunger. Devika twisted in his grasp, attempting to evade his mouth as directed, but his hands held her firmly, one at her waist, the other cupping the back of her head.



"Ah, sexy Kerala dear," Vishnu murmured between kisses, his voice dropping to a husky register she had never heard from him in class. "I can't resist kissing you."



Remembering they were supposed to be acting, Devika pushed against his chest. "No, please leave me," she protested, though the words lacked conviction even to her own ears.



"How can I leave such beauty?" Vishnu countered, his dialogue sounding rehearsed yet somehow genuine in its appreciation. His eyes held hers for a moment before he descended again, pressing kisses along her jawline. "Just leave your stupid husband and come to me. I'll worship your beauty."



The mention of her husband—even in this scripted exchange—sent a complicated pang through Devika's chest. Before she could respond, Vishnu's lips were on hers again, more insistent this time, pressing and moving against her mouth with deliberate skill. This time, she didn't resist, allowing her lips to soften beneath his, to respond to the gentle pressure.



"Yes," she heard herself say when they parted, the line emerging without conscious thought. "My husband is a dumb ass."



"Cut!" Pathan called, his voice sounding strained. "That was... perfect. Got it in one take."



Vishnu released her slowly, his hands lingering at her waist. His saliva glistened on her face, marking the trail of his kisses across her skin. There was something possessive in his gaze as he surveyed his handiwork—her flushed cheeks, her slightly parted lips, the moisture his mouth had left behind.



"One more video segment," Pathan announced, adjusting the camera angle. "Vishnu, carry maam on your hips, facing front, and kiss her while standing."



Devika felt a flash of alarm. Sitting on her student's lap seemed a step beyond even the kisses they had just shared, a position too intimate, too explicitly sexual to maintain the pretense of artistic purpose.



"I'm wearing a saree," she objected, gesturing to the tightly wrapped garment. "I can't possibly—"



"Maam, just raise your saree a bit and try to climb," Pathan suggested, already repositioning the lights. "Vishnu will help you."



Before she could protest further, Vishnu's arms were around her waist, his face close to hers. "Jump a little," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "I'll catch you."



With trembling fingers, Devika gathered the fabric of her saree, raising it to mid-thigh. The exposure of her legs felt almost more intimate than the kisses they had shared—these limbs that had been hidden beneath modest dbanging suddenly visible to both young men's appreciative gaze.



Taking a deep breath, she gave a small hop as Vishnu's hands gripped her waist, lifting her with surprising strength. She wrapped her legs around his hips instinctively, seeking stability in this precarious position. His hands shifted to support her, one arm around her waist, the other cupping her bottom through the saree to hold her steady.



"Action," Pathan called, his voice thick with an emotion Devika couldn't quite identify.



"You're so hot, maam," Vishnu began, his face inches from hers, his body supporting her weight with ease. "I feel great carrying you on my hips like this."



Devika felt the hardness of him pressing against her through the thin layers of fabric, unmistakable evidence of his arousal. The realization sent heat flooding through her body, pooling low in her belly with unexpected intensity.



"I'm fed up with my husband," she replied, falling into the role with surprising ease. "He doesn't know how to carry me like this. You're a real man."



The words were meant to be part of their performance, but as they left her lips, Devika realized they carried a kernel of truth. Anand had never held her this way, had never looked at her with the hunger she now saw in Vishnu's eyes.



Without warning, Vishnu's mouth captured hers again, not the tentative press of earlier but an open-mouthed, devouring kiss that sought entrance rather than merely contact. His tongue pushed against her closed lips, demanding access that she hesitated to grant.



"Oh maam, such sexy lips," he murmured against her mouth, his voice no longer performing but genuinely appreciative.



Something in his tone, in the reverent way he said "maam" even while holding her wrapped around his hips, broke through her resistance. Devika parted her lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside, to explore the warm wetness of her mouth. The taste of paan was stronger now, mingling with something uniquely his, creating a flavor that should have repelled her but instead sent waves of pleasure cascading through her body.



Vishnu kissed her deeply, thoroughly, his technique betraying experience beyond his years. His tongue tangled with hers, exploring, tasting, claiming. Unlike Ramlal's hesitant, grateful kisses, Vishnu's held a confident demand, as if he knew exactly what he wanted and expected her to provide it.



When they finally broke apart, Devika was breathless, her lips swollen from the pressure of his mouth. Pathan was applauding softly, the camera apparently forgotten in his hands as he watched their exchange with undisguised fascination.



"Perfect," he managed, clearing his throat. "That's exactly what the committee will want to see."



Vishnu lowered her slowly to the ground, his hands lingering at her waist as if reluctant to break contact. Devika straightened her saree with trembling fingers, suddenly aware of how far they had gone, of boundaries crossed that could never be uncrossed.



Yet as she met Vishnu's eyes, saw the mixture of triumph and genuine desire reflected there, she couldn't summon regret. This journey she had begun—from proper professor to willing participant in increasingly intimate encounters—felt not like a descent but like an awakening, a discovery of parts of herself long dormant beneath layers of propriety and expectation.



The photoshoot continued, but something fundamental had shifted—the pretense growing thinner with each pose, each touch, each kiss exchanged not just for the camera but for the pleasure they found in one another.

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



The studio lights cast a golden sheen across Devika's skin as she struggled to catch her breath, her lips still tingling from Vishnu's unexpected fervor. The taste of paan lingered on her tongue, foreign yet not entirely unpleasant, a physical reminder of boundaries already dissolved beyond recognition. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a voice screamed warnings about propriety, about professional ethics, about sacred vows—but that voice grew fainter with each passing moment in this transformed farmhouse where she had become someone else entirely.



"Beautiful chemistry," Pathan murmured, lowering the camera briefly. His eyes gleamed with something that went beyond professional appreciation, something darker and hungrier that Devika recognized from countless male gazes throughout her life but had rarely seen directed at her with such intensity. "For our next video segment, we need something more... symbolic."



Vishnu's hands still rested lightly on her waist, his thumb tracing idle circles against the exposed skin above her navel. "What did you have in mind?"



Pathan's gaze fixed on the thin gold chain that encircled Devika's neck, the mangalsutra that marked her as a married woman. "Vishnu should remove her mangalsutra with his mouth," he announced, the suggestion falling into the room like a stone into still water. "To represent the complete abandonment of marital boundaries."



The words struck Devika like a physical blow. She had already allowed her marriage symbol to be used in their provocative tableaux—held between teeth, pulled like a leash, captured in Vishnu's mouth—but to have it removed entirely seemed a transgression beyond forgiveness. The mangalsutra was not merely jewelry; it was the physical manifestation of her vows to Anand, the connection that remained even when he had grown distant in Dubai.



"No," she said, the word emerging sharp and sudden. She stepped back from Vishnu's embrace, her hand rising protectively to her throat, fingers curling around the small gold pendant. "That's too far. I need to stop this."



Surprise flickered across both young men's faces—not at her refusal itself, perhaps, but at the firmness with which it was delivered after she had acquiesced to so much already.



"Maam, what happened?" Vishnu asked, his brow furrowing with what appeared to be genuine concern.



Pathan stepped forward, camera lowered, his expression carefully arranged to convey confusion rather than the disappointment that briefly flashed in his eyes. "Did we say something wrong?"



"I can't do this," Devika replied, her voice steadier than she felt as she began gathering the pallu of her saree from where it had fallen during their previous poses. "Using my mangalsutra in photos is one thing, but removing it... that's different. That's a line I won't cross."



The young men exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that spoke of frustration and recalculation. Then Vishnu sighed, running a hand through his hair in apparent resignation.



"I'm sorry, maam," he said, his voice soft with practiced regret. "That's why we were telling you from the beginning that you couldn't perform this. These shoots require professional models who don't have... personal attachments."



His words carried a subtle sting—the implication that she was somehow less than professional, too emotionally entangled to complete what she had started. Devika felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, warming her cheeks.



"Pathan," Vishnu continued, turning to his friend, "backup all the camera files. We'll need to inform the committee that we've failed."



Pathan nodded grimly, moving toward his equipment. "All that money lost," he muttered, just loud enough for Devika to hear. "And no chance to cancel the photoshoot at this stage. We've already spent so much on equipment rental, location fees..."



The guilt settled over Devika like a heavy cloak. She had agreed to this arrangement, had allowed it to progress far beyond what any reasonable person would consider appropriate between professor and students. And now, after they had invested time, money, and hope, she was withdrawing because of a line that seemed arbitrary even to her own conflicted mind.



"No, please, Vishnu," she said before she could reconsider, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. "I'm sorry. I got emotional. It was just... unexpected."



Vishnu turned back to her, hope and skepticism warring in his expression. "No, madam, we hurt your feelings. We can't continue knowing that."



"You've made it clear from the beginning what these photographs would entail," Pathan added, his tone reasonable, measured, the voice of rationality appealing to her sense of fairness. "We respect that you've reached your limit."



Their apparent understanding, their willingness to accept her boundaries despite the cost to themselves, made Devika feel simultaneously relieved and ashamed. They were showing her more consideration than she had shown herself by agreeing to this arrangement in the first place.



"No," she said firmly, decision crystallizing within her. "Give me another chance. I won't stop for any reason this time. I promise."



The triumph that flashed between the young men was barely concealed—a quicksilver gleam quickly masked by expressions of cautious optimism. They had played her perfectly, Devika realized, guiding her emotional responses like experienced conductors leading an orchestra through a complex piece.



Yet knowing this didn't stop her. If anything, it added a strange layer of excitement to her surrender—the recognition that she was being manipulated yet choosing to continue anyway, finding a dark pleasure in her own capitulation.



"Let's keep working together," she said, smoothing her saree with hands that trembled slightly. "I'm committed to seeing this through."



Pathan's smile widened as he raised the camera again. "Excellent. Let's restart where we left off. Vishnu, remove her mangalsutra using your lips."



The studio lights seemed to intensify as Pathan adjusted his position, the camera rising to capture what was to come. "Action," he called, the single word vibrating with anticipation.



Vishnu approached Devika with renewed confidence, a dirty smile playing across his lips that spoke of victory already claimed. He bent slightly, his mouth hovering near her throat where the mangalsutra lay against her skin. His lips parted, teeth capturing the thin gold chain with surprising gentleness. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his head, drawing the chain upward until he reached her face, the pendant dangling between them like forbidden fruit.



Instead of pulling away as her instincts screamed for her to do, Devika leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was neither directed nor scripted, but born from some newly awakened hunger within her that recognized no boundaries. Vishnu responded immediately, raising his head further, drawing the mangalsutra completely from around her neck in a smooth motion that spoke of planning, of anticipation, of moves calculated long before this moment arrived.



The chain hung from his mouth like a trophy, the small gold disk catching the studio lights. In a gesture that surprised even herself, Devika captured the other end of the chain between her own lips, the mangalsutra suspended between them, a bridge connecting mouths that should never have met. They kissed again, more deeply this time, the marriage symbol pressed between their tongues in a desecration that sent shivers of forbidden pleasure through Devika's body.



When they finally separated, Vishnu released the chain into his palm, offering it back to her with unexpected reverence. Devika took it, fingers trembling slightly as she refastened it around her neck, the familiar weight settling against her skin like a silent accusation.



"Perfect chemistry," Pathan breathed, lowering the camera briefly. "Let's take a few videos while we snap the mangalsutra from your neck. Loosen the hook slightly so it will be easier to remove."



With fingers that no longer felt like her own, Devika adjusted the clasp at the back of her neck, making it loose enough to be pulled away without resistance. She felt as if she were preparing for her own execution, yet the anticipation coursing through her veins carried the electric charge of desire rather than dread.



"For this sequence," Pathan continued, his voice taking on the clinical tone of a director, "Devika will run to Vishnu, snapping her mangalsutra herself, throwing it aside, and kissing him passionately. Like she's actively rejecting her marriage for this affair."



Devika nodded, her throat too dry for words. The symbolism wasn't lost on her—she would be the agent of her own transgression, actively removing the symbol of her marriage rather than having it taken from her.



"Action!" Pathan called, camera raised.



Devika moved across the white backdrop with surprising grace, her feet carrying her toward Vishnu as if drawn by magnetic force. Her hand rose to her neck, fingers closing around the mangalsutra. With a quick, decisive motion, she snapped the chain, the gold links giving way with an ease that seemed almost symbolic.



"I don't need this anymore," she declared, tossing the broken chain aside with a flourish that wasn't entirely acting. She threw herself into Vishnu's arms, her mouth finding his with hungry precision.



They kissed with a passion that transcended performance, bodies pressed together in an embrace that spoke of genuine desire rather than merely simulated intimacy. Vishnu's hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with confident strokes that left her breathless.



When they finally separated, Devika retrieved the discarded mangalsutra, clutching it in her palm like a talisman—a reminder of the reality that waited beyond this farmhouse, beyond this strange interlude where she had become someone unrecognizable to herself.



"Now for our final sequence," Pathan announced, adjusting the camera settings. "Vishnu, stand behind Devika, snap her mangalsutra, and kiss her neck passionately."



Vishnu moved into position behind her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath warm against her neck. His fingers found the clasp of her recently reattached mangalsutra, working it open with practiced ease.



"No, please don't do this," Devika whispered, the words emerging as part of their performance yet carrying an undertone of genuine conflict that surprised her.



"I'll replace your mangalsutra with my lips," Vishnu murmured against her ear, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers cascading down her spine. The chain fell away from her neck, caught in his waiting hand.



His mouth descended to the newly bared skin, lips pressing against the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder. The kiss was not gentle—it was possessive, hungry, his teeth grazing her flesh in a way that would surely leave marks, evidence of this encounter that would remain after the cameras stopped rolling.



Devika moaned, the sound escaping unbidden as pleasure radiated from the point of contact, spreading through her body in waves that left her weak-kneed and wanting. She tilted her head to the side, offering more of herself to his attention, all pretense of resistance abandoned.



In this moment, with her mangalsutra held in Vishnu's hand and his lips marking her skin, Devika crossed a line from which there could be no return—not just in action but in desire, in the willing surrender to sensations she had denied herself for too long.





# Scene 2





Devika's neck tingled where Vishnu's lips had been, the ghost of his kiss lingering on her skin like a brand. The mangalsutra lay coiled in his palm—removed, replaced, removed again in a dizzying cycle of transgression and restoration that left her feeling untethered from the woman she had been just days ago. Each new suggestion from Pathan seemed designed to push her further beyond the boundaries of propriety, yet she found herself nodding, agreeing, hungry for whatever came next in this strange journey of self-discovery disguised as a photoshoot.



"Let's change the setup," Pathan announced, gesturing toward a low sofa that had been positioned against the white backdrop. "Vishnu, sit on the sofa. Devika maam, you'll sit on his lap with your knees around him."



Vishnu moved obediently to the sofa, lowering himself onto its center. He looked up at Devika with an expression of barely contained anticipation, his lips still glistening from their kisses, his eyes dark with desire that no longer pretended to be merely performative.



Devika hesitated for only a moment before approaching him. The high heels she still wore made her movements more deliberate, her hips swaying with each step in a way that drew both young men's gazes like magnets. She positioned herself before Vishnu, gathering her saree slightly to allow for the movement, then slowly lowered herself onto his lap.



The position was shockingly intimate—her knees on either side of his hips, her body pressed against his, their faces level and close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. The tightly wrapped green silk of her saree pulled taut across her thighs as she settled into position.



"Vishnu, just hold her ass for support," Pathan directed, his voice carrying a strained quality that betrayed his affected clinical tone.



Vishnu's hands, which had been hovering uncertainly near her waist, moved downward with cautious deliberation. They settled on the curves of her buttocks, fingers spreading wide to cup the flesh through the silk of her saree. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet studio—surprise and appreciation mingling in the sound.



"So soft," he murmured, the words barely audible, meant for her alone. "So plump."



Devika felt a flush of heat spread across her skin at his touch, at his words. The strange intimacy of having her student's hands on her buttocks—cupping, supporting, appreciating—sent conflicting waves of embarrassment and arousal through her body. This was beyond kissing, beyond the passionate embraces they had already shared. This was a deliberate, prolonged touch in a place that even Anand rarely explored with such obvious appreciation.



"Now I need you to hold the mangalsutra dollar between your tongues," Pathan instructed, adjusting his camera angle to capture their faces in profile. "Extended tongues, the pendant balanced between them."



Devika lifted the mangalsutra from around her neck once more, holding the small gold pendant between her fingers. She extended her tongue—pink, moist, slightly pointed at the tip—and placed the gold disk upon it, feeling its cool metallic weight.



Vishnu stared at her extended tongue with unconcealed fascination, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He leaned forward, his own tongue emerging to meet hers—darker, wider, marked with the faint stains of paan. The contrast between their tongues was stark—hers clean and pink, his bearing the evidence of habits she would have found repulsive just days ago.



The gold disk balanced precariously between them, supported by the wet surfaces of their extended tongues. Devika felt a drop of saliva gathering beneath her tongue, threatening to fall as she maintained the unnatural position. Vishnu's eyes remained locked with hers, communicating something primal that transcended their ostensible roles as professor and student, model and photographer's assistant.



"Perfect," Pathan breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "The mangalsutra suspended between Kerala purity and local flavor. Symbolic. Powerful."



The pendant stood balanced on their tongues, neither fully possessing it, both supporting it in a strange communion that felt more intimate than their previous kisses. Devika was acutely aware of every sensation—the pressure of Vishnu's hands on her buttocks, the heat of his thighs beneath hers, the proximity of their tongues, almost but not quite touching around the gold disk that represented her marriage.



"Maam," Pathan said after capturing several shots from different angles, "the next pose will be a little awkward, but we have to do this to attract the committee." He lowered the camera slightly, his expression serious. "It's something more... primal. More transgressive."



"I'm ready for anything," Devika heard herself say, the words emerging with a conviction that surprised even her. How far she had come from the woman who had balked at the suggestion of removing her mangalsutra—now she sat astride her student's lap, offering blanket permission for whatever might come next.



Pathan nodded, a flash of something like respect—or perhaps surprise at her acquiescence—crossing his features. "Okay then, let's do this. Maam, you'll hold your mangalsutra dollar in your palm. Vishnu will spit on the dollar, and then you'll lick and eat his spit from the mangalsutra."



The suggestion hung in the air between them, so outrageous that for a moment Devika wondered if she had misheard. Exchanging saliva through kissing was one thing—deliberate, direct consumption of another's spit was something else entirely, something that crossed from the merely inappropriate into the realm of the truly taboo.



Yet even as her mind registered shock, Devika felt a strange heat unfurling in her belly. She remembered Ramlal, the security guard whose saliva she had requested, had swallowed with deliberate pleasure just days ago. This would be different only in the medium of exchange—the mangalsutra rather than direct mouth-to-mouth contact.



"Okay," she said simply, her voice steady despite the thundering of her pulse in her ears.



Pathan raised his camera again, adjusting the focus. "Action," he called, the word carrying the weight of a command.



Devika extended her palm, the mangalsutra dollar resting in the center like an offering. She turned her hand toward Vishnu, presenting the symbol of her marriage for his desecration.



"After this, you won't need this anymore," Vishnu said, his voice pitched low enough that the camera's microphone might not catch the words.



Then, with deliberate slowness, he gathered saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto her palm. The wetness landed on the gold pendant, a small puddle of paan-tinged moisture that glistened under the studio lights. The tobacco-stained saliva, darker than she had expected, spread across the gold surface, transforming the sacred symbol into something profane.



Without giving herself time to reconsider, Devika raised her palm to her mouth. Her eyes locked with Vishnu's as she extended her tongue, making contact with the mixture of saliva and metal. The taste was complex—the metallic flavor of gold mingling with the bitterness of paan, the earthy undertones of tobacco, and something uniquely Vishnu's that she couldn't name but recognized from their kisses.



She didn't merely taste it—she lapped at the wetness with broad strokes of her tongue, gathering every drop from her palm, from the surface of the pendant. Then, with a deliberate motion that went beyond Pathan's instructions, she took the entire gold disk into her mouth, sucking it clean with audible intensity.



When she finally swallowed, the action was deliberate, visible, her throat working to consume what should have disgusted her but instead sent waves of dark pleasure coursing through her body.



The script called for nothing more, yet Devika found herself leaning forward, capturing Vishnu's mouth with her own. The kiss was not performance but genuine hunger—a desire to taste him directly, to mingle her saliva with his in a more intimate exchange than the one they had just shared. His hands tightened on her buttocks, pulling her closer against him as he responded with equal fervor.



"Beautiful," Pathan commented when they finally separated, seemingly unfazed by their deviation from his directions. "Natural chemistry. The committee will be impressed by the authenticity."



Vishnu's hands remained on her buttocks, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh with growing confidence. The awkwardness that had characterized his initial touch had dissolved completely, replaced by proprietary appreciation that made Devika acutely aware of her body, of its curves and hollows and the pleasure it could both give and receive.



"Maam," Pathan said, setting his camera down briefly, "so far we have taken every photo with the saree fully dbangd. Now we need to slowly move to the next level."



"Next level?" Devika asked, though she already suspected what he meant. The words emerged slightly breathless, her lips still tingling from Vishnu's kiss.



"It will be without the saree," he clarified, watching her face carefully for signs of resistance. "Not completely, of course, but we need to see more. The blouse, the waist, the navel without the pallu covering it."



Heat flooded Devika's face at the suggestion. To be photographed in her blouse, with her midriff fully exposed—this was different from the glimpses that had been visible during their previous poses. This would be deliberate exposure, documented, captured for others to see.



"Okay," she heard herself agree, the decision made almost before she had fully processed the implications.



"Perfect," Pathan nodded, raising his camera again. "Let's have Vishnu hold your pallu in his mouth. Remove your shoulder pin and offer him the end."



With trembling fingers, Devika reached for the small pin that secured her pallu to her shoulder. The metallic click as it opened seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet studio. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the pin free, feeling the weight of the fabric immediately begin to slide from her shoulder.



Rather than allowing it to fall completely, she gathered the silken edge, offering it to Vishnu as directed. He opened his mouth, teeth closing gently around the green fabric, his eyes never leaving hers as he accepted this new intimacy.



As he took the pallu between his teeth, the fabric pulled away from her body entirely, exposing her blouse to the studio lights, to the camera, to both young men's appreciative gaze. The sleeveless blouse clung to her curves, the modest neckline still revealing more than had been visible before—the gentle swell of her breasts, the definition of her collarbones, the smooth golden skin of her shoulders and arms.



Vishnu's eyes darkened as they took in the sight, his breath coming faster through his nose as he maintained his grip on her pallu. She felt his hands tighten on her buttocks, a reflexive response to the visual feast suddenly presented to him.



Pathan's camera clicked rapidly, capturing her partially disrobed state from multiple angles. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice thicker than before. "The ample cleavage is visible even with the modest neckline. The suggestion is more powerful than explicit exposure."



Devika felt herself flush at his clinical assessment of her body, at the knowledge that both young men could see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, could note the way the fabric stretched across her breasts. Yet beneath the embarrassment ran a darker current of pleasure—pride in their obvious appreciation, in the power her body held over them even in this seemingly vulnerable position.



Vishnu continued to hold her pallu between his teeth, his eyes fixed on her blouse-covered breasts as if memorizing every detail, every curve and shadow. The green silk hung from his mouth like a captured flag, a symbol of territories conquered and boundaries dissolved.



# Scene 3





Vishnu's teeth still held the edge of Devika's pallu, the green silk hanging from his mouth like a trophy while Pathan's camera continued its rhythmic clicking. The studio lights felt warmer now, almost intimate in their golden glow, transforming the improvised set into something that resembled a stage where Devika was both performer and audience—watching herself cross boundaries she had once thought immutable while simultaneously experiencing the transgression with every nerve ending in her body.



"For our next sequence," Pathan announced, lowering his camera briefly, "we'll shoot video. Vishnu, you'll corner Devika against the wall, pin her hands above her head with one hand, and place your other hand on her bare waist." His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he continued, "Her pallu will be trapped between her chest and yours while you kiss her. Intensely."



The directive hung in the air between them, laden with implications that went beyond their previous poses. This wasn't merely suggestive—it was explicitly dominating, a tableau of power and surrender that made Devika's heart race with a complex mixture of apprehension and dark excitement.



"Stand over there," Pathan instructed, gesturing toward an empty section of wall. "Vishnu, approach her slowly, with purpose. Devika maam, back away as if reluctant, until you have nowhere left to go."



They moved into position, Devika's high heels clicking against the floor as she took her mark. The pallu that had been in Vishnu's mouth now hung loosely over her shoulder, partially covering her blouse again, though far less securely than before. Vishnu stood several paces away, his expression transforming into something predatory, focused, a hunter who had already sighted his prey.



"Action," Pathan called, raising the camera to capture what would unfold.



Vishnu began walking toward her with measured steps, his voice dropping to a register Devika had never heard in the classroom. "Today I am not going to leave without tasting your lips," he declared, each word carrying weight beyond the script they were ostensibly following.



Devika felt her body responding to his approach, to the hunger in his eyes, to the promise in his words. She took a step backward, then another, playing her part in this dance of pursuit and evasion. "No, please," she protested, her voice breathy and unconvincing even to her own ears. "My husband may come."



The mention of her husband—even in this scripted scenario—sent a strange pang through her chest. Anand, distant in Dubai, would never recognize the woman she had become in this farmhouse, the desires she had discovered beneath layers of propriety and duty.



Her back hit the wall, the coolness of it seeping through her blouse, a stark contrast to the heat building within her body. "Please," she whispered, raising her hands in a gesture of feeble resistance, pushing against Vishnu's chest as he closed the final distance between them.



"Your husband doesn't have time to taste these lips," Vishnu replied, his improvised dialogue carrying a sting of truth that made Devika's breath catch. His hands moved with unexpected speed, capturing both her wrists and raising them above her head, pinning them against the wall with one strong hand.



The position forced her body into an arch, her chest thrust slightly forward, her arms stretched upward, exposing the sides of her breasts, the curve where they met her armpits. Vishnu's eyes traveled the length of her body, taking in the vulnerability of her stance, the way the pose emphasized every feminine line.



"You can't escape, you sexy Kerala beauty," he murmured, his free hand finding her waist, fingers spreading against the bare skin above her saree. The heat of his palm burned against her flesh, possessive in its gentle pressure.



His body pressed against hers, chest to chest, the fabric of her pallu caught between them as he had orchestrated. "Show me your lovely assets," he continued, his dialogue becoming more confident, more aggressive.



With a sudden movement, he pulled at her pallu, not removing it entirely but dislodging it further, causing it to slip down between their bodies until it was trapped only by the pressure of his chest against hers. The action exposed more of her blouse, more of the curves it contained, to Pathan's relentlessly recording camera.



Devika found herself breathing hard, each inhalation pressing her chest more firmly against Vishnu's, each exhalation a surrender to the moment unfolding between them. Her eyes locked with his, finding something there that went beyond performance—genuine desire, yes, but also a question, a seeking of permission for what would come next.



She gave the slightest nod, barely perceptible, yet enough to unleash him. Vishnu leaned forward, sealing his lips over hers with an intensity that surprised her despite everything they had already shared. This was no tentative exploration, no gentle questioning, but a claiming—his mouth moving against hers with demanding pressure, his tongue pushing past her lips without waiting for invitation.



Devika yielded completely, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue meeting his in wet, sliding contact that sent waves of heat cascading through her body. She tasted paan again, stronger now, mingling with the lingering flavor of his saliva that she had consumed from her mangalsutra minutes earlier. The combination should have repulsed her; instead, it fueled her response, her tongue tangling with his in increasingly bold strokes.



His hand at her waist moved lower, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip, then sliding around to the small of her back, pulling her more firmly against him. The pressure of his body trapped her completely between masculine heat and the unyielding wall, a sweet imprisonment that made her moan into his mouth.



When he finally released her lips, Devika found herself gasping for air, her chest heaving against his, her wrists still captured in his grip above her head. A thin strand of saliva connected their mouths for a moment before breaking, a glistening evidence of their shared passion.



"Cut!" Pathan called, lowering the camera with visible reluctance. "That was... perfect. Exactly the authenticity we need. Kudos, Devika maam."



Vishnu released her wrists slowly, his hands trailing down her raised arms in a caress that sent shivers across her skin. Her arms felt heavy as she lowered them, blood rushing back into fingers that had grown numb from their extended position. She smiled at Pathan's praise, absurdly pleased by his approval despite the circumstances, tasting Vishnu's paan-flavored saliva around her lips.



"Next," Pathan continued, adjusting the camera settings, "we'll shoot a different scenario. Maam, in this video, you'll be talking to your husband on the phone. Vishnu will come up behind you unexpectedly, drop your pallu, and kiss your neck and shoulders. You'll act shocked but continue your conversation, pretending nothing is happening."



The scenario struck Devika as particularly transgressive—not just the physical intimacy with Vishnu, but the direct incorporation of her husband into the fantasy, the deliberate deception even within this fictional framework. Yet she found herself nodding, accepting the premise without protest.



Pathan handed her a phone—her own, she realized, which he must have taken from her bag while she was changing earlier. "Just talk naturally," he instructed. "Say whatever comes to mind, as if you're having a real conversation with your husband."



Devika took the phone with slightly trembling fingers, positioning it against her ear as Pathan readied the camera. Vishnu moved away, preparing to enter the frame from behind her as directed.



"Action," Pathan called softly.



Devika began speaking, her voice sounding strange to her own ears as she fabricated a conversation with Anand. "Yes, everything is fine here," she said, trying to imagine what she might actually discuss with her husband. "The weather has been pleasant. The students are preparing for their exams."



Her words felt hollow, disconnected from the reality of what she had been doing with two of those students for the past hours. As she continued the one-sided conversation, she sensed movement behind her—Vishnu approaching silently, his presence announced only by the subtle shift in the air against her skin.



"I've been thinking about visiting my parents next month," she continued, her voice catching slightly as she felt Vishnu's arms encircle her waist from behind. "What do you think?"



His touch was gentle but confident, hands settling at her midriff, fingers splayed across the bare skin above her saree. She felt him press against her from behind, his chest warm against her back, his breath tickling the nape of her neck where loose strands of hair had escaped her bun.



With deliberate slowness, he slid his fingers beneath the edge of her pallu where it rested on her shoulder. The fabric surrendered easily to his touch, slipping away to reveal her blouse once more, the sleeveless cut exposing her arms completely to the studio lights, to the camera's unforgiving eye.



"The department meeting went well," Devika continued, fighting to keep her voice steady as Vishnu's lips made contact with the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. The warmth of his mouth against her bare skin sent shivers racing down her spine, pooling as liquid heat low in her belly.



His kisses moved upward along the column of her neck, then across to her shoulder, teeth grazing gently against flesh that had known only her husband's touch for years. Devika felt her eyelids growing heavy, her words becoming disjointed as pleasure threatened to overwhelm her concentration on the pretend conversation.



She felt Vishnu press his groin against her buttocks, the hardness of him unmistakable through the layers of fabric separating them. The evidence of his arousal should have alarmed her; instead, it sent a thrill of feminine power coursing through her veins—the knowledge that she, Devika, had caused this reaction, had reduced her student to this state of obvious need.



"Not now, please," she whispered, pressing the phone's speaker against her palm to muffle her words, stepping out of the pretend conversation momentarily to address Vishnu directly.



His only response was to tighten his grip on her waist, to press more firmly against her, to increase the intensity of his kisses along her neck. She felt his tongue tracing patterns on her skin, leaving cool trails that quickly warmed in the studio air.



"Cut!" Pathan called finally, lowering the camera with visible reluctance. "Perfect. The contrast between your calm conversation and your body's response to Vishnu's touch was exactly what we needed."



Devika lowered the phone, her hand slightly unsteady. Vishnu remained behind her, his arms still encircling her waist, his lips hovering near her ear as if reluctant to break contact entirely. She could feel his heart hammering against her back, matching the rapid rhythm of her own.



"The video came out beautifully," Pathan continued, reviewing the footage on the camera's small screen. "Your expressions were perfect—trying to maintain composure while clearly affected by his touch."



Vishnu slowly released her, stepping back with obvious reluctance. Devika stood still, acutely aware that her pallu remained down, her blouse exposed to both young men's appreciative gaze. Their eyes tracked over her form with unconcealed hunger, taking in details they had glimpsed before but now had full opportunity to study—the precise curve of her shoulders, the definition of her collarbones, the way her blouse stretched across her breasts with each breath.



She reached for her pallu, intending to restore it to its proper position, to reclaim some semblance of modesty after these increasingly intimate exchanges.



"Maam," Pathan said quickly, stopping her with a raised hand, "you can wrap your pallu around your hips if you'd like, but I'd suggest remaining palluless for our next few videos and photos. The committee specifically mentioned wanting to see more... authentic expressions of Indian beauty."



Devika hesitated, her fingers still touching the silk fabric that could cover her, could restore at least the appearance of propriety. The request—to deliberately remain partially disrobed for the remainder of the session—seemed to cross yet another boundary. Yet after everything they had already done, after the kisses and touches and salivary exchanges, what difference did this visible testament to their intimacy really make?



With a slow nod, she released the pallu, allowing it to hang loosely at her side rather than attempting to restore it to her shoulder. The liberation felt strange—frightening yet oddly freeing, as if in this small act of continued exposure she was shedding not just fabric but layers of restraint that had bound her for years.



Vishnu's eyes darkened as he watched her decision, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth—triumph mingled with genuine appreciation for what she was offering. Pathan raised his camera again, capturing her in this moment of deliberate vulnerability, her blouse now a permanent feature of their visual record rather than something glimpsed between orchestrated wardrobe malfunctions.



The photoshoot would continue, boundaries would continue to dissolve, and Devika found herself not dreading but anticipating what might come next in this strange journey of self-discovery disguised as art, as commerce, as fifteen lakhs that seemed increasingly beside the point.

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



The golden studio lights cast a gentle sheen across Devika's exposed shoulders, her pallu still hanging loose at her side rather than dbangd modestly across her blouse. She felt strangely vulnerable yet powerful standing there partially disrobed, the cool air of the farmhouse kissing skin that had been covered just moments before. Vishnu's saliva was still drying on her neck, a physical reminder of boundaries already dissolved, of kisses that should never have happened but somehow felt inevitable in this transformed space where she was no longer merely Professor Devika but something else entirely—a woman rediscovering sensations long buried beneath layers of propriety.



"Maam," Vishnu said, lowering the camera with a studied casualness that didn't quite mask the calculation in his eyes, "for our next set of photos and videos, we're going to switch. Pathan will act as the male model, and I'll be the cameraman."



The announcement hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Devika felt a flutter of discomfort in her chest—they were passing her between them like an object to be shared, each taking turns experiencing her body under the thin pretense of art. Yet beneath the discomfort lurked something darker, more primal—a forbidden thrill at being desired enough to be fought over, to be arranged in this careful rotation of touch and gaze.



She opened her mouth to protest, to reassert some boundary in this increasingly boundaryless encounter, but found herself silent, words dying in her throat before they could form. What objection could she possibly raise now, after everything she had already permitted? After Vishnu's mouth on her neck, his hands on her waist, his teeth holding her mangalsutra? Any protest would seem arbitrary, hypocritical even.



Before her thoughts could fully crystallize, Pathan stepped forward, his fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt with eager efficiency. The fabric parted to reveal skin several shades darker than Vishnu's, muscles more defined from what she guessed was regular physical labor rather than deliberate exercise. He shrugged the shirt from his shoulders with a fluid motion that spoke of self-assurance, of comfort in his own skin that made Devika acutely aware of her own partial disrobing.



Vishnu, meanwhile, retrieved his discarded shirt from the back of a chair, slipping it over his head with reluctance evident in his movements. The exchange was happening too quickly for Devika to process—Vishnu's saliva barely dry on her skin, and now Pathan stood half-naked before her, ready to claim his turn at whatever intimacies the camera would justify.



"Here," Vishnu said, handing the camera to Pathan before taking it back himself, confusion momentarily crossing his features. "No, you're the model now. I'm taking the photos." He laughed, a short bark that betrayed his eagerness to direct whatever would unfold next. "Let's start with videos. Pathan, you stand still. Maam, I want you to do a few dance steps in front of him, swaying your hips."



"Dance?" Devika echoed, her voice emerging higher than intended. The request seemed simultaneously tame after what had come before yet somehow more exposing—to move deliberately, to perform rather than merely pose.



"Just some simple movements," Vishnu elaborated, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "Show off your grace. Let the camera capture how naturally you move."



Devika hesitated, memories surfacing unbidden—college days when she had performed classical dance, the weight of anklets around her feet, the rustle of proper costume, the structured movements that celebrated femininity within strictly defined parameters. How different from what was being asked of her now—to dance without structure before her student, her blouse exposed, her pallu wrapped inappropriately around her hips rather than dbangd across her shoulder.



"I haven't danced in years," she said softly, a last attempt at deflection.



"It's like riding a bicycle," Vishnu encouraged, already adjusting camera settings. "Your body remembers. Besides, we just need something natural, not professional choreography."



He moved to a small speaker system she hadn't noticed before, connected his phone with practiced ease. "Ready? I'll play some music to help you get into the rhythm."



Before she could formulate another objection, the room filled with the pulsing beat of a Bhojpuri song—something popular and vaguely familiar, with suggestive lyrics that made the hairs on her arms stand up. This wasn't the classical music she had trained to; this was something designed for a different kind of movement altogether.



"Action," Vishnu called, raising the camera.



Devika stood frozen for a moment, the weight of both men's expectant gazes heavy upon her partially exposed body. Then, drawing a deep breath, she began to move, finding the rhythm despite herself. Her hips swayed tentatively at first, the high heels she still wore forcing her body into unfamiliar angles, emphasizing the curve where waist met hip.



The gold sandals clicked against the floor as she took small steps forward, approaching Pathan with measured movements that grew more fluid as the music worked its way into her muscles, awakening muscle memories long dormant. Her arms rose of their own accord, wrists turning in half-remembered mudras that belonged to a different kind of dance entirely but somehow worked with the pulsing beat.



Pathan watched her approach, his eyes dark with appreciation, following the sway of her hips, the movement of her exposed arms, the bounce of her breasts beneath the tight blouse with each step. His gaze felt almost tangible, a physical touch crawling across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.



She turned, presenting her back to him, continuing her improvised dance with growing confidence. The pallu wrapped around her hips emphasized their movement, drawing attention to the curve of her buttocks, the feminine sway that had once earned her compliments in more innocent contexts. Now, knowing the effect it had on the young men watching her, that same sway took on new meaning, became deliberate seduction rather than natural grace.



Devika stepped backward, closing the distance between herself and Pathan, still facing away from him. She could feel his body heat radiating against her back, could sense his breath quickening as she moved closer, still swaying, still dancing. The moment stretched, charged with anticipation, with the unspoken question of whether he would touch her or maintain the distance Vishnu's direction had established.



Then she felt it—Pathan's hands settling on her bare hips, fingers splaying wide across flesh left exposed by her unconventional pallu arrangement. A gasp escaped her lips, not entirely performance, at the contact of his palms against her skin. His touch was different from Vishnu's—more tentative initially, then firming with growing confidence as she didn't pull away.



"Yes, perfect," Vishnu encouraged from behind the camera, his voice slightly hoarse. "Keep dancing with his hands on you. Show how it affects you."



Devika continued moving, now with Pathan's hands as anchors, guiding her hips in smaller, more deliberate circles. Where her waist folded with each movement, the soft flesh pressed against his fingers, creating a sensation that made her increasingly aware of her body, of its softness contrasted with his calloused hands.



A shiver ran through her at the intimacy of this dance, at the way Pathan's fingers dug slightly deeper with each sway, kneading the flesh of her hips with growing boldness. She felt his breath against her neck, warm and uneven, betraying his reaction to her movements against his hands.



"Great dance," Vishnu called finally, lowering the camera slightly. "Now, let's try something different. I want you to hug tightly, with Devika maam's leg wrapped around Pathan's hip."



The instruction hung in the air, heavy with implication. This would be no casual embrace but something deliberately provocative, bodies pressed together in simulation of far more intimate acts. Devika turned to face Pathan, finding his eyes already fixed on hers, dark with anticipation.



Without waiting for further direction, he stepped forward, arms encircling her waist, pulling her against him with unexpected force. Her breasts crushed against his bare chest, the pressure forcing them upward, deepening her cleavage where it showed above her blouse neckline. The heat of his skin burned through the thin fabric separating them, a stark reminder that only her blouse stood between his chest and her breasts.



"Raise your leg around him," Vishnu instructed, his voice dropping lower. "Pathan, support her thigh."



With trembling fingers, Devika gathered her saree slightly, raising the fabric to expose her calf, her knee, part of her thigh. The gesture felt almost more intimate than the kisses they had shared earlier—this deliberate revelation of limbs usually kept carefully covered beneath her professional attire.



She raised her right leg, wrapping it awkwardly around Pathan's hip, unaccustomed to such a position. He immediately reached down, his hand curving behind her knee, supporting her weight, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh through the saree. The contact sent a jolt through her body—his palm against her leg, warm and firm, holding her in this scandalously intimate embrace.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "The contrast of your skin tones, the tension in your bodies—the committee will love this."



Devika felt Pathan's fingers flex against her thigh, testing the firmness of muscle beneath soft skin. Her hairless leg, freshly waxed just days ago in preparation for a faculty dinner that now seemed to belong to another lifetime entirely, felt hypersensitive to his touch, each slight adjustment of his fingers sending fresh waves of sensation cascading through her body.



The high heel of her golden sandal pressed against the back of his leg, forcing their bodies closer together, their hips aligned in unmistakable suggestion. Pathan's eyes held hers, communicating something beyond the performance they were ostensibly maintaining—genuine desire mingled with disbelief that this was happening, that his professor was wrapped around him, her breath coming quick and shallow against his bare chest.



"Just a few more shots," Vishnu murmured, circling them with the camera. "Hold that tension. It's perfect."





# Scene 2



The golden heels dug into Devika's feet as Vishnu finally called for them to break the pose, her leg sliding reluctantly from around Pathan's waist. Her pallu remained wrapped low on her hips rather than restored to her shoulder, the absence of this traditional covering leaving her blouse exposed to both men's appreciative gaze. The farmhouse had become a strange bubble outside of time, outside of propriety—a place where she was neither wholly herself nor entirely someone else, but existing in some liminal space between Professor Devika and this new woman emerging with each boundary crossed.



"Next," Vishnu announced, checking something on the camera's display before looking up with that now-familiar glint in his eyes, "we'll do another short video. Maam, you'll mimic talking to your husband in Dubai again, but this time, Pathan will kneel in front of you and kiss your navel."



Devika's hand flew instinctively to her exposed midriff, fingers brushing against the bare skin around her navel. The suggestion sent a complicated flutter through her stomach—part apprehension, part forbidden anticipation. These young men were systematically introducing her to touch, to sensation, to attention her body had been starved for during Anand's long absence. Each new scenario seemed designed to awaken nerve endings long dormant, to create cravings she hadn't known existed within her.



"My navel?" she repeated, her voice emerging soft and uncertain.



"The perfect symbol of feminine beauty," Vishnu confirmed, his tone taking on that pseudo-professional quality he adopted when pushing her toward new boundaries. "Traditional yet sensual. The committee specifically mentioned wanting more focus on authentic Indian erogenous zones."



Devika swallowed hard, remembering Seenu's lips on her navel days earlier—the department head who had been the first to introduce her to the strange pleasure of having that particular hollow explored by another's mouth. And now Pathan would be the second, would taste her where only her husband and one other man had tasted before.



"Alright," she agreed, the word barely audible.



Vishnu handed her the mobile phone—her own, she noted again with distant surprise—and positioned her near the wall. "Remember, you're having a normal conversation with your husband. Try to maintain your composure despite what Pathan is doing. That contrast is what makes these shots so powerful."



She nodded, positioning the phone against her ear as Vishnu readied the camera. Pathan stood several paces away, his eyes fixed on her exposed midriff with undisguised hunger, as if memorizing the terrain he would soon explore with his mouth.



"Action," Vishnu called softly.



Devika began speaking into the phone, fabricating another one-sided conversation with her absent husband. "Hello, Anand? Yes, I received the money you sent. Thank you." Her voice sounded strange to her own ears—too high, too strained to be convincing, but Vishnu nodded encouragement.



From the corner of her eye, she saw Pathan approach slowly, his movements deliberate, predatory. The performance called for confusion, for resistance, and she found it came naturally as he drew closer, his intentions clear in the intensity of his gaze.



"The plumber fixed the leak in the bathroom," she continued, her voice wavering slightly as Pathan dropped to his knees before her. "It wasn't as expensive as we feared."



"Not now, Pathan," she whispered, covering the phone's microphone with her palm, playing her part in this fabricated scenario even as her heart hammered against her ribs.



He looked up at her from his kneeling position, a smile spreading across his face that held nothing of submission despite his lowered posture. "I can't control myself," he replied, his voice pitched low with deliberate seduction. "You continue talking to your dumb husband."



His eyes dropped to her navel, studying it with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness. His next words, though quiet, carried clearly to her ears: "Such a deep, sexy navel. Your husband is lucky, but today I can enjoy it."



He leaned forward, his breath warm against her bare midriff. Devika felt her muscles tense in anticipation, in a strange mixture of dread and desire. Then he inhaled deeply, his nose nearly touching her skin, as if breathing in her scent, memorizing it.



"The neighbor's children are being very naughty today," Devika improvised into the phone, her free hand making a weak gesture of pushing Pathan away. "They keep... bothering me while I'm trying to talk."



His lips made contact with her skin then, pressing directly against her navel in a kiss that was not tentative but claiming. His hands rose to grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh exposed by her low-wrapped pallu. The jolt that ran through her body at this contact was electric, a current of sensation that made her bite her lip to suppress a gasp that would have been audible to any real caller.



Pathan's kisses grew harder, more insistent, his mouth working against her navel with increasing hunger. Unlike Seenu's hesitant exploration days earlier, Pathan approached her body with confident possession, as if he had every right to the pleasure he was taking from her skin.



Devika struggled to maintain her fictional conversation, her words becoming disjointed, interrupted by small catches in her breath when his lips found particularly sensitive areas. "Yes, I've been grading papers all afternoon... The students are... preparing for their final exams..."



Her voice trailed off as Pathan pulled at her saree's waistband, tugging it lower on her hips, exposing more of her midriff to his attention. His face pressed against her waist, cheek rubbing against the smooth skin with obvious pleasure. He inhaled deeply again, as if intoxicated by her scent, his eyes closing briefly in apparent bliss.



"Sorry, there's some interference on the line," she managed to say into the phone, her free hand now resting on Pathan's shoulder, no longer pushing him away but seemingly steadying herself against the sensations his mouth was creating.



His tongue emerged then, wet and warm, pressing into her navel with deliberate precision. It swirled inside the small hollow, exploring its depth, its shape, in a simulation of more intimate acts that made Devika's knees weaken. When he began to suck, drawing the sensitive skin into his mouth with gentle pressure, she couldn't suppress the moan that escaped her lips.



"Just... the television," she gasped into the phone, struggling to maintain the pretense even as pleasure radiated from her navel outward, spreading through her body in waves that left her trembling.



Pathan's teeth grazed the flesh around her navel, testing, teasing, before closing in a gentle bite that sent a shock of sensation directly to her core. Her body jerked involuntarily, another moan escaping before she could trap it behind her teeth.



His saliva glistened on her skin, the paan-tinged moisture catching the studio lights. Where Vishnu's kisses had marked her neck, Pathan now claimed her midriff, his mouth covering her in a spreading shine of possession that felt like a visual record of boundaries dissolved, of propriety abandoned in favor of sensation.



"Cut!" Vishnu called finally, lowering the camera with obvious reluctance. "Perfect. Your reactions were completely authentic, maam."



Devika lowered the phone, her breath coming in uneven gasps, her waist glistening with Pathan's saliva. He remained kneeling before her, looking up with undisguised triumph in his eyes, his lips wet from his exploration of her navel.



"I need one more small clip," Vishnu added, raising the camera again. "Just your navel with Pathan's saliva while you're breathing hard. The visual is too perfect to miss."



Devika stood still, offering her marked midriff to the camera, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. Pathan's saliva cooled on her skin, creating a strange contrast with the heat building within her body.



"Extremely sexy," Vishnu murmured, capturing the evidence of their encounter from multiple angles. "Nice video. Next, maam, let's humiliate your mangalsutra a bit more."



The suggestion should have shocked her, should have been the line she refused to cross. Instead, she found herself nodding, curious despite herself about what new transgression they had planned for the symbol of her marriage.



"Give your mangalsutra to Pathan," Vishnu directed. "He'll tie it around his wrist and press your hips while I take a few photos."



Devika's fingers rose to her neck, touching the thin gold chain that had been removed and replaced so many times already during this strange afternoon. Each time she took it off, the action became slightly easier, the symbolism slightly less powerful. With only the slightest hesitation, she unclasped it, holding the sacred symbol out to Pathan, who had risen to his feet.



He took it with surprising reverence, their fingers brushing in the exchange. With deliberate movements, he wrapped the chain around his wrist, letting the small pendant dangle against his skin—her marriage symbol now an ornament on her student's body.



With the mangalsutra secured, Pathan placed his hands on her hips, fingers spreading wide across the soft flesh exposed by her low-wrapped pallu. Devika closed her eyes, unable to watch this latest desecration, this transfer of ownership from her neck to his wrist to her body again.



"Perfect," Vishnu murmured, the camera clicking rhythmically. "This symbolizes the affair taking charge of her marriage, holding it literally in his hands."



Pathan's fingers pressed slightly, kneading the flesh of her hips, claiming her body through the symbol meant to bind her to another man entirely. When he finally removed his hands, Devika opened her eyes, expecting him to return her mangalsutra to her.



Instead, he held it back when she reached for it. "I have a few more ideas for this," he said, his voice soft but firm. "If you don't mind, maam."



Devika hesitated, then nodded, curiosity overcoming propriety once more. "What do you have in mind?"



"I'll kneel again," Pathan explained, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll place your mangalsutra dollar in your navel and kiss it there."



"Alright," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.



Once more, Pathan knelt before her, his face level with her midriff. With careful precision, he placed the small gold pendant directly in her navel, letting it nestle in the hollow his mouth had so thoroughly explored minutes earlier. Then, leaning forward, he pressed his lips against it, kissing her marriage symbol where it rested against her skin.



The image was potent in its transgression—her student kneeling before her, kissing her mangalsutra not at her neck where it belonged but in her navel, the place of creation, of fertility, of feminine power. Vishnu captured the moment from multiple angles, the camera clicking steadily as Pathan's lips remained pressed against the gold disk, against her skin, in prolonged communion.



When he finally pulled back, he returned the mangalsutra to her, helping her clasp it around her neck once more. The pendant felt warm against her skin, heated by its contact with her navel, with Pathan's mouth.



"Pathan, hold maam's hips with your face pressed against her waist," Vishnu directed, barely giving Devika time to adjust to the mangalsutra's return. "Show the continued connection even after the symbol has been restored."



Pathan complied immediately, his hands finding her hips once more, but this time sliding lower, cupping the rounded flesh of her buttocks. His fingers dug into the soft curves, pulling her forward until his face pressed against her midriff again. He moaned against her skin, the vibration of his voice sending strange ripples of sensation through her body.



"Yes," Vishnu encouraged, capturing this new tableau of submission and possession. "Perfect contrast—the mangalsutra at her neck, but his claim on her body remains."





# Scene 3





Pathan's face remained pressed against Devika's midriff, his breath hot against skin still damp from his earlier attentions. His fingers kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks through her saree, claiming territories of her body that had known only her husband's touch for years. The farmhouse seemed to exist in a different reality now—a place where time operated according to different rules, where each boundary crossed didn't lead to consequences but to new thresholds, new territories of sensation waiting to be explored.



"Maam," Vishnu's voice broke through her daze, his tone carrying that now-familiar mixture of deference and command. "We need to move to the next level if we want to win this contract. Is it okay if Pathan holds his face against your blouse, over your exposed boobs area?"



"My breast area?" Devika exclaimed, her hands rising instinctively toward her chest in a protective gesture. Despite everything that had already transpired—the kissing, the navel exploration, the desecration of her mangalsutra—this suggestion struck her as a significant escalation. Her breasts had remained untouched, unclaimed, the one part of her body that had maintained some semblance of privacy throughout this increasingly intimate photoshoot.



"Yes, maam," Vishnu confirmed, his expression carefully arranged to convey professional necessity rather than the hunger that flickered behind his eyes. "We can't disappoint the committee like the previous time. These photos need to show complete surrender to be convincing."



Devika recognized the manipulation in his words, the careful reminder of their supposed failure, of the committee's disappointment that had never been real. Yet knowing she was being led down a calculated path didn't diminish its effectiveness. Fifteen lakhs hung in the air between them, the justification for each new transgression, though she had stopped thinking about the money hours ago.



"Alright," she heard herself say, the decision seemingly made by someone else, some new version of herself that had been emerging throughout this strange afternoon. "If it's necessary for the contract."



Pathan rose to his feet, his expression containing none of Vishnu's pretended professionalism—only naked anticipation at what he was about to experience. His eyes fixed on her blouse, on the curves it contained, the modest neckline suddenly seeming inadequate protection against what was to come.



"Pathan, hug her and rest your head on her boobs over the blouse," Vishnu directed, raising the camera. "Make it look natural, like lovers who are comfortable with each other's bodies."



Pathan stepped forward, closing the distance between them with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a question in his gaze, a seeking of final permission before crossing this new threshold. Devika gave an almost imperceptible nod, granting what he sought.



His arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him with gentle but insistent pressure. One hand slid lower, cupping her buttock in a now-familiar grip while the other splayed across her back, supporting her as he bent his head.



The first contact of his face against her cleavage sent a jolt through Devika's body—a shock of intimacy more profound than the kisses they had shared. This was different, somehow more private, more feminine. His cheek pressed against the swell of her breast where it rose above her blouse neckline, his breath warm against her skin.



Devika remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as Pathan adjusted his position, nuzzling deeper into her cleavage. He was the first man besides her husband to touch her there, to feel the softness of her breasts against his face. The realization sent a complicated wave of emotions washing through her—shame, excitement, guilt, and beneath it all, a treacherous current of pleasure at being appreciated so thoroughly, so hungrily.



A small, involuntary moan escaped her lips as Pathan pressed his face more firmly between her breasts, his nose nudging against the fabric of her blouse. She felt a gathering wetness between her thighs, a physical response to this new intimacy that both alarmed and excited her.



"Please," she whispered, the word ambiguous even to her own ears—a plea to stop or to continue, she wasn't entirely certain.



"Such sexy, stiff, natural boobs," Pathan murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating against her chest. "So perfect."



His words, crude yet appreciative, sent another wave of heat spreading through her body. The clinical assessment of her breasts, delivered while his face was pressed between them, carried a strange intimacy beyond the physical contact—an acknowledgment of her body's particular attributes, its unique appeal.



Pathan began to move his face slowly, rubbing against her exposed cleavage in small, circular motions that simulated caresses. Devika felt his lips press against her skin occasionally, not quite kisses but deliberate contact nonetheless. His breath came faster now, warming her flesh through the thin fabric of her blouse.



Her own breathing had grown irregular, her chest rising and falling with increasing rapidity, pressing her breasts more firmly against his face with each inhalation. She could feel her nipples hardening beneath her blouse, beneath her bra, responding to the proximity of his mouth despite the layers separating them.



As Pathan continued his exploration, Devika caught glimpses of her bra where the neckline of her blouse gaped slightly with their movements—the edge of lace occasionally visible, another boundary being approached if not yet crossed. His face moved lower, nuzzling at the fabric, seeking more of her.



"Perfect," Vishnu murmured from behind the camera, circling them to capture multiple angles of this intimate tableau. "The contrast between her elegance and his hunger is exactly what we need."



Devika closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of Pathan's face against her breasts, his hands on her body, claiming her inch by inch with his touch, his breath, his appreciation. She had never imagined herself capable of such abandonment, such willing surrender to touch that should have repulsed her but instead awakened parts of herself long dormant.



"Next," Vishnu announced after capturing several minutes of this embrace, "Pathan will pull you by grabbing your blouse front. Maam, you should act like you're resisting, trying to get away from him."



The scenario carried echoes of their earlier performances—resistance that wasn't entirely feigned, surrender that wasn't entirely unwilling. Devika nodded, adjusting her stance slightly to prepare for this new pose.



"Action," Vishnu called, the camera raised expectantly.



Pathan's hands moved from her waist to her blouse, fingers curling into the fabric just above her breasts. She felt his knuckles brush against her skin through the thin material, felt the heat of his touch even through this barrier. For a heartbeat, she thought his fingers slipped inside her blouse, grazing the upper swell of her breast where it met her bra, but the contact was so brief she couldn't be certain.



"No, please leave me," Devika protested, the words emerging breathier than she had intended, less convincing than the script required. She raised her hands, pushing against his chest with calculated ineffectiveness.



Pathan pulled, the fabric of her blouse tightening across her breasts, highlighting their shape and fullness in a way that drew both men's gazes like magnets. He jerked her forward, into a tight embrace that pressed her body fully against his, her face against his chest, his arms encircling her completely.



"Be silent," he growled, the menace in his voice clearly performance yet carrying an undercurrent of genuine desire that made it more affecting, "or else I will tear those blouse."



The threat hung in the air between them, made more potent by the fact that she believed him capable of it—not necessarily now, in this controlled environment, but in some hypothetical scenario where the boundaries were even more blurred, where desire overcame the last vestiges of restraint.



"No, take your hands off," she demanded, her voice stronger now, finding the resistance the scene called for. Her hands pushed more firmly against his chest, creating the illusion of struggle while her body remained pressed against his, their contact maintained despite her apparent efforts to break free.



"Yes, it's fine," Vishnu called, lowering the camera slightly. "Nice shot. The tension between you is perfect—desire fighting with propriety, passion with resistance."



Pathan's hands released her blouse slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers trailing against the fabric as if memorizing its texture, the shapes it contained. Devika stepped back, smoothing the material where his grip had disturbed it, acutely aware of both men's eyes following the movement of her hands across her breasts.



"I think we have everything we need for today," Vishnu announced, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction that went beyond professional accomplishment. "The committee will be impressed with the chemistry, the authenticity. These aren't poses—they're moments captured."



Devika nodded, unable to form words that would adequately express the tumult of emotions coursing through her body. She stood in the center of the transformed farmhouse, her pallu still wrapped around her hips rather than covering her shoulder, her blouse exposed, her skin marked by kisses and touches that had crossed every boundary she had once believed immutable.



What would tomorrow bring? What new thresholds would they ask her to cross? And why did the thought fill her not with dread but with a dark, complicated anticipation that she couldn't quite acknowledge even to herself?

[Bowlg78]

Security guard is missing ....


Local specialities exploration must be needed...