Adultery Radiance of Vanitha

[Yesudoss]

Cant wait to read the next moves

[ghost0011]

wow.. this was an outstanding piece of work.

[Kartikjessie]

Will she take pills or happily get impregnated with child of her mama. Waiting for next part.

[sunilserene]

Amma ఏమన్నా story naa దేవుడా
I loved it husband sulking missing

[adams_masala]

Chapter 25: The Morning After

# Scene 1

Dawn in Chennai arrived as it always did, first as a deepening of the silence, a pressure against the windows, and then with a slow, gold-fingered intrusion into every crack and crevice of the house. In Selvam’s bedroom, the light filtered through a broken line of louvered slats, bisecting the bed with parallel bands that shifted and grew with every passing minute.

Vanitha lay on her side, her bare legs drawn up in a loose fetal curl, her cheek pillowed on Selvam’s chest just above the nipple. The dark brown nub grazed her nose with every rise and fall of his breathing. Selvam, flat on his back, had one arm dbangd over her shoulder, his hand cupping her upper arm with absent-minded tenderness. The bedsheets had been kicked down to the foot of the bed, where they tangled with wilted jasmine strands and several vivid streaks of lipstick red, petals crushed during the night and now flattened, like the remnants of old secrets, against the white cotton. The air, thick with a blend of sandalwood, sweat, and the dying sweetness of last night’s garlands, vibrated faintly with the city’s awakening.

For a while neither of them moved. Vanitha’s eyes, still heavy-lidded and rimmed with the kohl that had survived her many small tears and the humid friction of lovemaking, watched the geometry of sunlight creep across Selvam’s chest. She traced the line of his sternum with her nail, feeling the faint drag of hair and the warm pulse beneath, and let her mind replay the night...the taste of him, the sounds he’d made, the sharp shock of the forbidden finally made real. Every moment shimmered in her memory, unstable and precious as a mirage.

At some point she became aware that Selvam’s gaze was awake, fixed somewhere above her head, his fingers tracing idle patterns against her shoulder as if comforting himself. A tiny flicker of muscle in his jaw betrayed that he was thinking very hard about something.

“It’s morning,” she said, when the silence had begun to thicken uncomfortably.

“Mm,” Selvam replied. His voice was rougher than usual, stripped of all the polish and gravity he deployed for clients and family alike. It was the voice of a man who had let his guard down, then realized too late the risks.

“I’m usually up by five,” he added, as if the lateness of the hour explained everything.

Vanitha let out a low, indulgent laugh. “No temple run, no morning yoga? Scandalous.”

He almost smiled. “You wore me out, I think.”

She raised her head, just enough to rest her chin on his pectoral. “That is a compliment I will treasure,” she murmured. “I have never seen you look so... disarmed.”

He reached up to sweep a lock of her hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear with the same practiced gentleness he might use to bandage a wound. “That is because I have never let myself be disarmed,” he said. “Not until last night.”

The admission, so frank and unguarded, made something inside her ache. She pressed her face into his chest, inhaling the scent of sweat and residual sandalwood. “I liked it,” she said, voice muffled by skin. “I liked every bit of it.”

His hand slid down to the small of her back, following the vertebrae one by one. She could tell he was searching for the right words...something to build a scaffold over the wide chasm of what they’d done.

“I want to ask you something,” he said, after a pause. “But first, let me get decent.” He started to rise, but Vanitha pushed him back down, shifting so that she straddled his waist, her nakedness lit up in gold by the morning sun. She made no effort to cover herself; she wanted him to see, to remember, to feel the reality of her body against his.

She arched an eyebrow. “Why start pretending now?”

He grinned, but she saw the flicker of nerves in the way his hands hovered, uncertain of where to rest. She reached for the bedsheet at their feet and pulled it up, dbanging it loosely over her chest...not to hide herself, but to give him a reprieve from his own discomfort.

“There. Now we’re both decent,” she said, eyes glinting.

“Thank you, Miss Chennai,” he said, and the old playfulness crept back into his tone. “May I ask my question?”

Vanitha nodded, solemn all at once.

“Did you know?” he asked. “I mean...did you know before that day you saw me, about SilverFox77?”

She pretended to think, tilting her head theatrically. “I suspected after the first few messages, if I’m being honest,” she said. “Most men do not reference ancient Tamil temple architecture when commenting on my waist chain.”

Selvam winced, a faint blush coloring his cheekbones. “That was careless of me.”

“It was endearing,” Vanitha corrected, a smile ghosting her lips. “And also very, very hot.”

He seemed to absorb that, weighing it. “I was worried you’d find it creepy.”

“I found it flattering,” she said. “If a woman is going to be stalked online, better by a man who knows his marma points.”

They both laughed then, the sound shaky but real, and for a few minutes the awkwardness receded.

Selvam propped himself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping to reveal his chest and the strong ridge of his abdomen. “It started innocently enough,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I just liked the way you wore sarees. The discipline of your posture. The confidence.” He ran a hand over his hair, suddenly self-conscious. “I was proud, in a way. That my daughter-in-law could set an example for modern women everywhere.”

“But then?” Vanitha prompted, her voice soft.

“Then,” Selvam exhaled, “you started posting more. The pictures got bolder. The comments got... riskier. And I started to think about you in ways I shouldn’t.” His eyes met hers, dark and vulnerable. “I wanted to stop, but I kept coming back.”

Vanitha leaned in, her lips brushing his earlobe. “You weren’t the only one,” she whispered. “I liked the attention. The way you made me feel, beautiful, powerful, seen.” She kissed the tip of his ear, then drew back to look at him, her expression unguarded. “It’s why I wore this saree last night. I wanted you to see me.”

He looked at her, searching. “But Ashok..”

“Is in another country,” she said flatly. “And has not touched me in months. He has Latha to take care of, he will be busy and besides…” She broke off, biting her lip.

“Besides?” Selvam prompted.

She hesitated, then spoke in a rush “I always wondered what it would be like. With a man who cared about the rituals, who wanted to worship me properly. Not just as a body, but as something... sacred.” Her voice broke, and she looked away, cheeks flushed.

Selvam reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “You are sacred,” he said quietly. “Even in this bed, after all that’s happened. Maybe especially now.”

They sat in silence for a few heartbeats, the world outside growing steadily brighter.

After a moment, Vanitha said, “Do you regret it?”

He considered. “Not yet. Ask me again after my next cup of coffee.”

She rolled her eyes, then collapsed onto his chest, letting her head rest in the notch below his clavicle. She could feel his heart, steady and deep, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

For a while they lay like that, the only sound the distant thrum of the city waking up, punctuated by the occasional burst of traffic horn or raucous call from the neighborhood rooster. The sunlight, insistent now, crawled across their bodies, exposing what the night had so artfully concealed.

As the morning pressed in, their nakedness became more obvious. Vanitha pulled the sheet tighter around her, but it was an inadequate shield. Selvam reached for the white veshti he’d worn the night before, gathering it up from the floor, but as he tried to cover himself, the thin cotton caught on the swelling arc of his morning erection and tented up like a small monument to awkwardness.

Vanitha tried not to laugh, but failed, snorting behind her hand. “Good morning, indeed,” she said.

Selvam’s face colored. “It’s a normal physiological response,” he muttered, fumbling with the fabric.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said, reaching over and pressing the sheet down over her own chest in a show of solidarity. “If anything, it’s a compliment.”

He tried to hold the veshti with one hand while using the other to smooth it flat, but the more he worked at it, the more pronounced the tenting became. “This is impossible,” he grumbled.

“Would you like me to take care of it?” she asked, voice innocent but eyes wicked.

He stopped moving, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you plotting?”

She knelt beside him, tucking her legs under her in a posture of exaggerated decorum, and reached out to smooth the veshti herself. Her hand brushed the tip of his erection, and she felt the muscle twitch beneath the thin cloth.

“You know, for a man your age, this is quite impressive,” she said, running her palm slowly down the length of him.

“Is that so?” he asked, breath catching.

Vanitha pulled the veshti aside, exposing his cock to the sunlight. She watched as it bobbed free, unrestrained and impossibly hard. The foreskin was retracted, revealing the glossy crown, a bead of precum pooling at the tip.

She brought her face close, eyes wide and studious. “I never got to examine it properly last night,” she said, half to herself. “Everything happened so quickly.”

Selvam watched her, his breathing shallow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

“May I?” she asked, not waiting for permission before wrapping her fingers around the base. She marveled at the heat, the weight, the vascular complexity of it. It seemed almost too large for her hand, which pleased her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate.

She pulled gently at the foreskin, rolling it back and forth, fascinated by the way it glided, the pale pink head glistening beneath. She touched the bead of precum with her fingertip, watching as it stretched into a delicate thread.

“I read somewhere that older men produce more pre-cum,” she said, her tone clinical. “I see now that it’s true.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Selvam accused, but his voice was thick with lust.

She nodded, and brought her tongue to the tip, licking up the droplet. It was salty, slightly musky, and she tasted herself in it as well, remnants of the night before, mingled with his own essence.

“Mm,” she said, making a show of savoring it. “Better than filter coffee.”

Selvam groaned, his hips rising involuntarily.

Vanitha took him in her mouth, just the tip at first, then deeper as her confidence grew. She reveled in the feel of him, silk over steel, alive and responsive to her every movement. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, bobbing her head slowly, her hand following the rhythm.

Selvam’s hands found her hair, threading through the thick strands. He guided her, gently at first, then with more urgency as his restraint faltered.

“Oh, Vanitha,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “That’s… ahh”

She moaned around him, the vibration making him twitch in her mouth. She wanted to please him, to give him something he’d never forget.

She pulled back, lips slick and shiny. “Do you want to fuck me again, mama?” she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

He was speechless, but nodded.

She climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His cock jutted up between her legs, pressed against the damp heat of her sex. She grasped the base and guided it to her entrance, sinking down slowly, inch by inch, until he filled her completely.

They both gasped at the sensation, the perfect fit, the slow stretch as her body accommodated him.

She rocked her hips, rolling them in small circles, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. Her hair tumbled down around her face, catching the sunlight, casting patterns across her breasts.

Selvam gripped her waist, steadying her as she rode him. His eyes were fixed on her face, drinking in every detail, the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the sweat beading on her forehead.

Vanitha moved faster, chasing her own pleasure, her hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. She loved the way he felt inside her, the way he groaned her name, the way he let her take control.

She felt herself building toward orgasm, a tightening deep in her core. She ground down harder, and her body shuddered as waves of pleasure radiated outward.

“Oh, god,” she moaned, collapsing forward, her breasts pressed to his chest. “Mama, I’m…”

He thrust up into her, driving her over the edge. She bit his shoulder to stifle her cry, her entire body shaking.

Selvam held her tight, one arm around her back, the other hand cupping her ass as he pumped into her. He chased his own climax, his thrusts erratic, desperate.

“Vanitha,” he groaned, and she felt him swell and pulse inside her, his hot release filling her up.

They lay together, bodies tangled, breathless and laughing.

The sunlight had now fully claimed the bed, turning their sweat-slicked skin to molten gold.

After a while, Vanitha rolled off of him, pulling the sheet up to her chin. “This is a dangerous habit,” she said, her voice sleepy.

He smiled, already dozing. “Tomorrow, I’ll get up at five.”

She curled into his side, resting her head on his chest.

And for a little while, they were just two people, sated and at peace, in a world remade by their own defiance.


# Scene 2

The room had grown warm, the air thick with the musk of sex and jasmine and the faint, clean tang of filter coffee from the kitchen below. Vanitha lay sprawled atop the bed, her legs tangled in the mangled sheet, her chest rising and falling in slow, contented waves. Selvam lay beside her, arm propped behind his head, eyes half-lidded but never leaving her face.

He reached over and brushed a thumb along the curve of her jaw. “You are insatiable,” he said, and it was more awe than accusation.

She licked her lips, tasting the residue of his man juice from the last session. “I was starved,” she replied. “You have no idea.”

He grunted in disbelief. “I suspect I am not finished with you, either.” His hand trailed down her ribcage, palm splaying over the dip of her waist.

She smiled, lazy and feline. “Already?”

“Always,” he said, and in a swift, practiced motion he rolled her onto her back, pinning her with his weight. His morning erection, relentless and heavy, pressed into her thigh.

Vanitha laughed, then gasped as he buried his face between her breasts, mouthing at the skin with a hunger that was almost desperate. She arched her back, hands winding into his hair, and for a long, golden moment they were lost to the world again.

He worked his way down her body with reverent thoroughness, kissing each rib, each mole, each hollow and curve as if memorizing a new scripture. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he parted them and dove in, feasting on her until she was shivering and incoherent, her hands grasping blindly for purchase.

When he finally surfaced, his lips glistened, and he climbed up to kiss her, sharing the taste of her own pleasure. He guided her hand to his cock, slick with her saliva, and watched as she stroked him with growing confidence.

“Finish for me,” she whispered. “I want to taste it, this time…”

He knelt over her chest, one hand bracing himself on the headboard, the other guiding his length to her mouth. She opened willingly, wrapping her lips around the head, tongue swirling with practiced curiosity.

He groaned, hips bucking, and she felt the pulse of him as he erupted, a hot, salty spurt that coated her tongue and the back of her throat. She swallowed greedily, savoring the act itself as much as the taste.

At that precise, delicate moment, Vanitha’s phone began to ring.

She froze, mouth still wrapped around Selvam’s cock, the insistent jingle of a FaceTime call vibrating through the room.

Selvam looked down at her in horror, then, inexplicably, they both began to laugh, quietly at first, then with a building intensity that made Vanitha’s shoulders shake and her mouth slip off his cock, which twitched against her cheek.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, giggling, and reached for the phone on the bedside table.

“Should I…?” Selvam began, gesturing toward the bathroom.

She shook her head, finger to lips. “Stay,” she mouthed.

The screen showed a video call from Ashok. Vanitha took a steadying breath, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and answered.

“Hi, hubby,” she said, her voice sunny and controlled.

“Hey, babe!” Ashok grinned, the video quality sharp enough to show his neat haircut and the spartan furnishings of his California home. “You’re up early. Looking so fresh, wow!”

Vanitha flashed a camera-ready smile, ignoring the fact that her hair was a wild, sex-tangled halo and her shoulders bore the faintest imprint of Selvam’s stubble.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “How’s everything there?”

“Good, good,” Ashok replied, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Listen… is this a good time? I have something important.”

Vanitha felt Selvam’s hand slide up her thigh, gripping it gently, possessively. She shot him a warning glance but didn’t try to move.

“Of course, darling,” she said, the word tasting odd with Selvam’s cum still in her mouth. “What happened?”

Ashok’s face changed. “It’s Latha. There’s… um, there was a complication.” He hesitated. “She lost the baby.”

The words hung in the air, a sudden vacuum that sucked all the oxygen from the room.

Vanitha felt her entire body go cold, then hot, then nothing at all. She sat upright, clutching the sheet to her chest, her free hand covering her mouth.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Ashok, I’m so sorry. What… what did the doctors say?”

He swallowed hard. “They said it just happens sometimes. Nothing she did, nothing anyone could have done.” His voice cracked. “I just… thought you should know right away.”

Vanitha nodded, blinking hard. “Thank you for telling me. How is Latha?”

“She’s devastated. I think she blames herself.”

“She shouldn’t,” Vanitha said automatically, her tone gentle. “Tell her I said that. Please. Tell her I’m thinking of her.”

“I will,” Ashok said, voice small. “I just wish you were here.”

“I know,” Vanitha replied, and for the first time since the call began she really meant it.

Ashok wiped his eyes, tried to recover. “Are you okay?”

Vanitha nodded. “I will be. Don’t worry about me.”

They exchanged a few more tender words before Ashok begged off, promising to call later. The screen went dark, leaving a silence as deep as the ocean.

Vanitha sat motionless for several seconds, then looked at Selvam. His eyes were wide, his hand frozen on her thigh.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. “I never wanted a baby before. Not really. But hearing that it’s gone…”

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, but she resisted.

“No, let me feel it,” she said. “Let me be sad, just for a minute.”

So he sat with her, silent, as the sun climbed higher, and the world outside kept moving, as it always did.


# Scene 3

Breakfast on the veranda was a ritual that Selvam rarely skipped, no matter how late the previous night’s excesses. He set the small round table with two metal tumblers and a slender steel jug of hot, slightly sweet filter coffee. The idli came out fluffy and white, the sambar thick with vegetables and glistening with an oil slick the color of chili powder. Everything was exactly as it had always been, except for the woman in his chair… her hair still tangled from sleep, her face scrubbed free of makeup, and her hands shaking ever so slightly as she fished a piece of jasmine from behind her ear and dropped it on the tiled floor.

They ate in silence. The city was already awake… someone was hammering on a rooftop three houses away, and the heavy air pulsed with the drone of auto-rickshaw engines and the distant moan of a temple horn. Vanitha sipped her coffee and let her eyes roam the garden, which was already battered by heat despite the early hour.

Selvam watched her. He noticed every micro-expression… the quick dart of her tongue to the corner of her mouth to catch a bead of coffee, the way her fingers toyed with the oddiyanam (chain) at her waist, the small furrow between her eyebrows as she stared into the middle distance.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked gently.

She shrugged, eyes still fixed on the yard. “Maybe two hours. Maybe none.”

He grunted, unsure what to say. He had never been a master of comfort… his life had been discipline and quiet strength and, when needed, a corrective silence. But last night had left him exposed, his own boundaries pulled taut as a drumhead.

He poured himself more coffee and reached for the newspaper, trying to conjure a normalcy that no longer belonged to them.

“Mama?” Vanitha’s voice was soft, almost uncertain. “Do you ever wonder if we are being punished for what we want?”

He set the paper down. “No,” he said. “I think the universe is mostly indifferent. Sometimes, though, it gives us a warning shot across the bow.” He looked at her, held her gaze. “You can grieve, Vanitha. You don’t have to be strong here.”

She bristled, just slightly. “I wasn’t in love with the baby,” she said, “but I was in love with the idea. That it would fix things. That it would make Ashok pay attention again. That it would put me in control, somehow.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you?” she asked, a sharp edge in her voice. “Because I think you’ve been in control for so long, you can’t imagine wanting to lose it.”

Selvam considered this, weighing the accusation. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But last night… that was not control. That was surrender.”

Vanitha laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It was everything,” she said. “It was what I wanted. What I still want.”

He felt the tension build in his chest… a raw, primal thing. “Vanitha, what are you asking?”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table. Her eyes glittered with something he couldn’t name. “What if we just… stopped pretending?” she said. “What if we admitted that this is who we are now, and we take what we want, consequences be damned?”

He stared at her. The possibility was both intoxicating and terrifying.

She reached across the table, her fingers finding his. She guided his hand to her stomach, flat and taut under the soft cotton of her saree. “What if I told you,” she whispered, “that I would carry your child if you asked? Not for Ashok, not for the world, but for us.”

He felt his heart hammer in his chest, heard the blood rush in his ears.

“But you said...”

She silenced him with a shake of her head. “I know what I said. I still don’t want to lose this body I worked so hard for. I still want to win. But I also want you, Selvam. All of you.”

He was at a loss, the ground shifting under him.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “If I got pregnant, would you want that child? Or would it ruin everything?”

He took a long time before answering. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft it barely carried above the sound of the crows in the garden. “I would want it,” he said. “I would want you. But I would be terrified, every day, of what it would cost.”

Vanitha smiled, and for the first time that morning it reached her eyes. “That’s enough for now,” she said, withdrawing her hand. She stood, collecting the plates and tumblers, and disappeared into the house with a grace that was almost careless.

Selvam sat for a long time, staring at the empty chair across from him. The world was unchanged… garden, crows, distant traffic… but something in him was raw and rearranged, a part of himself torn free and left to tremble in the open air.

He went to his study and dialed Ashok’s number, his hands trembling only slightly.

When the call connected, Ashok’s voice was thin and sleep-addled. “Appa?”

“Son,” Selvam said, “I heard about Latha. I am so sorry.”

Ashok exhaled, shaky. “I just don’t understand, Appa. We did everything right.”

Selvam made comforting noises, let the boy speak. He talked about the doctors, about the hopes they’d built, about how Latha couldn’t stop crying.

Finally, Selvam said, “You should try again.”

There was a pause. “We still have two embryos left,” Ashok said. “But Latha… she’s so scared. She keeps saying it’s a bad omen.”

“Nonsense,” Selvam said, channeling the voice of a patriarch. “You are strong. She is strong. The universe is testing you, but you must not give up. Try again.”

Ashok was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay, Appa. We will.”

They exchanged a few more words… mundane, parental things… and then Selvam hung up.

He stayed in his study for a long time after, staring at the garden outside, thinking about seeds and the violence of their growth, the way some things bloom only after being buried.

The day went on. There would be lunch, and coffee, and a thousand other rituals. But Selvam felt the aftershock of last night in his bones, a new map of fault lines drawn across the landscape of his heart.

Out on the veranda, Vanitha was watering the plants, her hips swaying as she moved from pot to pot. The gold chain at her waist caught the sun, a glint of promise in the hard morning light.

Selvam watched her, and in that moment he knew, this was just the beginning. But he needs to stay a little away from Vanitha, that too if she’s insisting about a baby together and not worry about the consequences.

[jiivajothii]

Awesome update

[Kanavudevathai]

Very hot and spicy stuff

[PELURI]

boss selvam....mind blowing...just out of the world.....she's right....both of you must try for a baby boy...make a stallion....want to witness the process....heavenly it'll be...

[adams_masala]

Thanks Everyone!!