Adultery Radiance of Vanitha, Daughter-in-Law and Instagram Influencer

[adams_masala]

Chapter 70: The Choli Try-On

Scene 1

It was Sunday. Ten past ten.

Selvam was in the kitchen with his coffee when the doorbell rang. Ashok was at the office for an onsite day, Latha tagged along with Ashok. Vanitha was in the shower upstairs. The house was quiet except for the fan on the stove hood and the sound of water in the pipe behind the wall.

He set the coffee down.

He went to the door and opened it.

Summer was on the step.

He looked at her for one breath. He did not say anything. His mouth did the small thing a mouth did when a man had a sentence ready and the sentence went out of him.

She had on a skirt. A white Abercrombie ruffle skirt, small, short, low on her hip, the waistband of it sitting a clean two inches below the shelf of her hip bone. Above it a white crop top, thin cotton, the hem of it ending a hand’s width above the waistband of the skirt, the whole of her belly bare between them. Between her belly and the waistband, a small chain.

Thin gold. Small beads. It sat on her hip the way the chain had sat on the woman at the crosswalk in San Francisco he saw years ago.

She was wearing the small heels too. The kind that lifted a calf a half inch when a woman walked.

Her hair was down in the long waves. She had gold hoops in her ears. Her eyes were on his face, steady, and the corner of her mouth was up.

“Good morning, Selvam.”

“Summer.”

“May I come in?”

“Yes.” He did not move out of the doorway. He heard himself not move. He made himself step back. “Please. Come.”

She stepped up. The heel of the shoe clicked on the tile of the entry. She came past him close enough that he got the citrus of her perfume, the one that had sat above his right shoulder at the cafe, and she stopped a half step inside the door with her hand on the strap of the small bag over her shoulder and she turned to face him.

“Not crossing the professional limit, I hope.”

“Summer.”

“Does the reality match your imagination?” Summer asked, voice the peculiar mix of innocence and edge that always got his pulse moving. She looked down at herself, her fingers pinching the hem of the white ruffle skirt and flicking it outward with a tiny shake. When she looked up again, she did a slow, deliberate turn, the skirt rising a scandalous inch at the small of her back, the chain at her waist glinting as the morning light caught it. 

She posed for a heartbeat… one hip cocked, arms akimbo, her crop top riding higher on her ribcage.

Suddenly, Selvam saw her not as a girl, not as his employee, but as someone who had read every word of his late-night text and had resolved to bring it to life, down to the last detail. His mouth opened but there was nothing inside it. The skirt was so short he could see the soft shadow of her hips, the skin above the waistband bare, warm, alive.

His mind flashed to the photo she had uploaded last night, of her pink nipples, the one that had made it impossible for him to sleep.

Summer’s eyes were on him, so direct and unblinking that it felt like she could see the images in his mind. She pressed her tongue to her upper teeth, smirking.

“Not what you expected?” she prompted, her voice coaxing him to find his words.

But he did not answer. He could not. He just looked at her, the scent of her perfume mixing with a lighter, more intimate smell, her hair still wet at the tips. He was aware of the blood in his wrists, the way his shirt felt too tight at the neck.

He realized he was staring. He forced himself to look away, to the picture frames on the wall, the shoes in the entryway, but every atom in his body wanted to look back.

She waited, silent, shoulders relaxed and hands behind her back, rocking lightly on her heels as if she could wait all day.

He closed the door. He did it slow. He put his hand on the knob and he did not turn around for a second longer than the second he should have taken, and then he turned.

“It matches it.”

“Mm.”

“It is better.”

She smiled, small, one corner, and her eyes went warm the way they had gone warm on the video call when the cardigan had slipped.

“That was a brave thing to say, Selvam.”

“You are standing in my son’s entry in the clothes I described to you in a text at nine thirty at night.”

“I am.”

“Bravery does not come into it anymore.”

She laughed, one breath, a small bright sound in the empty hall.

He let his eyes do what he had not let his eyes do at the cafe and had not let them do on the video call. He let them go from her face.

They went down, hungry, ravenous. The white cotton of the top strained across her chest, the fabric pulled taut over the curves beneath, revealing the shadow of her nipples pressing against the thin material.

The delicate lace of her bra cut a pale, forbidden line where the cotton had worn nearly transparent. The scoop at the neck plunged an inch below her collarbone, framing the hollow of her throat where a pulse visibly hammered, matching his own thundering heartbeat.

His eyes went down from there. The bare belly. The cutest, round navel. The gold chain on the hip, the way the small beads sat on the soft small shelf above the bone. The white ruffle skirt below the chain. The curve of the hip under the skirt. The curve of her round ass.

His eyes swept downward, this time with no restraint. It was not just the strip of bare skin that drew him, though the long stretch of it was dazzling… a perfect, delicate line from the lowest edge of her white top to the shallow dip of her navel.

The skin on her midriff, was impossibly smooth and faintly tanned, the softest down catching the morning light.

He found himself staring at the cute, round navel, set like a punctuation mark in her abdomen, and then lower still at the single gold chain riding her hips, the links tight against her and punctuated with tiny beads that caught the sun and cast little firefly glints across her belly.

The chain was an Indian thing, a detail he associated with Vanitha and Indian women, but on Summer it looked dangerous, indecent, a dare.

Past the chain, the white ruffle skirt perched barely on her hips, so low it hinted at everything and revealed almost as much. It was the kind of skirt designed to be sat down in only with careful calculation, every inch above the hem a negotiation with gravity and expectation.

The skirt’s fabric was so light the air from the ceiling vent moved it. For one wild instant, he pictured the skirt sliding lower with just the brush of his palm. He did not let himself finish the thought. But he wondered how her smooth ass would feel like if he did that.

The lines of her hips were wickedly defined, the way models looked in photos he refused to let himself linger on, and the way the soft skin gave way to hard muscle above the knee made his mouth go dry. The skirt had a flare to it, a playful bounce, but every movement Summer made pressed the fabric against her ass, hugging it so tightly it left nothing to the imagination except the color she wore underneath… if she wore any at all.

He went further, let his gaze do what he wanted.. down the length of her thighs, toned and tanned and dusted with a constellation of pale freckles.

He realized, in a distant, ashamed way, that he was ogling… not admiring, not assessing, but ogling. Staring with the kind of hunger that would have earned him a slap or, worse, laughter from his late wife, if she had caught him looking at another woman that way.

But Summer did not move to cover herself or shift under his gaze. She just watched him, a flicker of satisfaction passing over her lips, as if she knew the effect she had and wanted him to feel it.

He brought his eyes back up.

Summer was watching him.

“It is okay to look, Selvam.”

“Summer.”

“I picked each piece of it for you. You do get look.”

“You picked each piece of it.”

“Each piece. The skirt from the back of the closet. The chain from a trip to Italy two summers ago that I had not worn because I had not had the occasion. The top is new. I bought it at the mall on Friday.”

“You bought it on Friday.”

“I bought it on Friday, Selvam. Before you had written me the text.”

He looked at her.

“Before?”

“Before.” She did the half-corner of her mouth again. “I had a feeling about you.”

“Summer.” He kept his voice low. The shower was still running upstairs. He could hear the small hiss of it through the ceiling. 

“Vanitha is home.”

“I know she is home, Selvam. I parked behind her car.”

“Then we should speak about this later.”

“We should speak about this later.”

“Yes.”

She took one step toward him. The heel clicked small. She was a foot from him now. She had to tilt her chin up a small amount to keep her eyes on his face and she did it, slow, and the small gold hoop at her ear caught the light.

“Selvam.”

“Summer.”

“Y2K is having a moment.”

“A moment.”

“The low rise. The crop. The waist chain.” She put one finger under the chain at her hip and she lifted it a quarter inch off her skin and she let it drop. It fell soft against the bone. “Everyone is wearing it. My friends at the office are wearing it. Girls who were four years old when you saw that woman in San Francisco are wearing it.”

“Summer.”

“I am telling you,” she said, soft, “you are allowed. You are allowed to look” she eyes her cleavage again.

He looked at her cleavage. He did not make himself look away this time. The small valley between her breasts under the thin cotton. The shadow of the lace bra under it. The pulse at the hollow of her throat. He looked at all of it and he let himself look at all of it and he felt the small warm pull under his sternum that he had been feeling since the cafe and he did not push it down.

He breathed out. He did not know when he had stopped breathing. He did the thing he did in the gym when a weight was heavier than he had thought it would be, which was to let the breath go clean and not fight it.

“You are going to be a problem for me.”

“I told you I was, Selvam. Last night. You agreed.”

“I agreed.”

The shower cut off upstairs.

The small hiss of the water stopped. The pipe in the wall clicked once, small, the way the pipe in the wall clicked when the hot went off. The house went quiet.

He looked up at the ceiling. He looked back at Summer.

“She is out of the shower.”

“She is out of the shower.”

“Summer. Go to the kitchen. Sit at the island. I will pour you coffee.”

“Selvam.”

“Go, Summer. Please.”

She held his eye one breath longer. She did the small half-corner of her mouth. She turned, slow, and the skirt did the small flare at the turn, and the white of the ruffle caught the light from the window in the hall, and he watched the back of her go, the round of her ass under the skirt, the small bare line of her lower back above the waistband, the thin gold chain circling her hip where the skirt sat low on her, and she went around the corner into the kitchen and he stood in the entry with his hand on the knob of the door he had already closed.

He breathed in through his nose. He breathed out through his mouth.

He went after her.

She was at the island. She had slid onto the stool at the far end, the one with its back to the window, and she had put the small bag down on the stool next to her, and she was sitting with her ankles crossed and her hands flat on the counter. The skirt had ridden up a half inch on her thigh when she sat. She did not pull it down.

He went to the coffee machine. He put a mug under it. He pressed the button.

The machine hissed.

“Selvam.”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry.”

He turned. She was looking at him across the island. The half-corner was gone. Her face was the face she had had at the cafe when she had asked if her reality met his imagination. It was the face of a woman who had let the mask down a half inch.

“For what, Summer.”

“For the text on Friday. For the upload last night. For the skirt.” 

She glanced down at her own lap, at the white ruffle on her thigh, and then up. “For all of it at once. It is a lot. I know it is a lot.”

He set the mug down on the counter in front of her. He slid it the last two inches with his fingers on the handle. He did not take his hand off it.

“Summer.”

“Yes.”

“If you were sorry you would not have worn the skirt.”

Her mouth went up at one corner. She did not answer.

Scene 2

Vanitha came down the stairs at ten twenty.

Her hair was damp at the ends. She had pulled it up into a loose knot on the top of her head and the water from the shower had made small dark spots on the shoulders of the soft cotton top she had thrown on, a pale pink tee, loose at the collar. Below it a plain white skirt, above her thighs, the kind she wore when she was in the house. She had not put the thali chain on yet. The soft of her throat was bare.

She came to the bottom step and stopped.

Summer was on the couch. Selvam was across the room at the kitchen island with a second coffee in his hand. The two of them were not talking. The room had the small held quiet a room had when two people in it had been talking and had stopped when they heard a foot on the stair.

“Summer.”

“Vanitha.”

Summer stood up off the couch. She came across the room in the small heels and she put both her hands out and Vanitha took them and Summer kissed her cheek, soft, on one side and then the other. The citrus of her perfume was warm at Vanitha’s face.

“You are early.”

“I am early. I am sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. I love early.” Vanitha held Summer out at arm’s length by the hands and looked at her. She looked at the skirt. She looked at the crop. She looked at the small gold chain at her hip. Her eye went a small amount wider and came back.

“You are dressed up, dear.”

“Y2K, dear.” Summer’s mouth did the small thing at the corner.

“It is having a moment.”

“It is having a moment on you.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Vanitha turned her head a quarter. Selvam was not looking at them. He was looking at the cricket in the corner box on the television, which was not on. He was looking at the blank glass. She watched him not-look for one breath and she filed it.

“Mama.”

“Tell Ma.”

“Summer and I are going upstairs. I want to show her the choli tailored. The one from the measurements. I want to try it on her.”

“Good, ma.”

“You will be okay down here?“

“I will be okay, ma.”

Vanitha turned back. She still had Summer’s hands. She did not let them go.

“Come, dear. Upstairs.”

They went.

The stair was wide and the runner was the cream one Ashok had picked when they moved in, thick under Vanitha’s bare feet and under the small heels of Summer’s shoes.

Vanitha went up first. She felt Summer on the step behind her, one step down, the small click of the heel on the wood at the edge of the runner.

Selvam watched both Vanitha’s and Summer’s ass under their short skirt sway as they climbed the stairs.

He heard the bedroom door close upstairs.

At the top of the stair she turned left and she opened the door of the master bedroom and she held it for Summer and she closed it behind them.

She turned the small lock at the knob.

The bedroom was full of the morning light. The bed was made, the white duvet smooth, the two pillows stacked at the head. The long wall opposite the window held the full-length mirror in the gold frame she had bought on their first trip to the antique street in Sunnyvale. Her vanity sat to one side. The closet doors were closed.

“Oh,” Summer said, soft. “Your room is beautiful.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Vanitha went to the closet. She opened one door. The two cholis she had picked up from the tailor on Friday hung at the front on two small padded hangers. One was a deep wine red, the fabric a heavy silk with a small gold thread running through it in a leaf pattern. The other was a soft cream silk with a pale pink thread in the same leaf pattern. Both had the low scoop at the front and the high cut at the midriff that Vanitha had on all her filming blouses.

“The red is yours.” Vanitha lifted it off the hanger. “The cream is mine. I had them stitched from the numbers the app gave. We will see how they fit.”

“Vanitha.” Summer was standing in the middle of the room. She had her hand on the hem of the white crop top. “Here?”

“Here, dear.”

“Okay.”

Summer lifted the crop top. She did it in one clean pull, the cotton up over her ribs and over her breasts and over her head, and she dropped it on the bench at the foot of the bed. She was in a red lace bra underneath.

Vanitha looked.

She did not mean to look the way she looked. She had seen Summer in the boutique, in the green-velvet room, in the full of her. The breasts sat high the way they had sat high at the boutique, full at the bottom, the soft pink of the nipple a dark shadow through the lace, and Vanitha’s own mouth went dry for a breath.

She pulled her own tee up off her head.

She had on her plain black everyday bra, the one with the small band at the front. Her stomach was the stomach her followers had come to her for, the small clean line from rib to navel, the soft shelf above the skirt. She dropped the tee next to Summer’s crop top.

They stood next to each other at the mirror.

“Vanitha.” Summer’s voice was quiet.

“Mm.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever stood next to.”

“Summer, stop.”

“I am not stopping.” Summer’s eyes in the mirror went from Vanitha’s throat down to the curve of her waist and back up.

“Look at you. The shape. The color. You have the body women pay money to pretend to have.”

“And you.” Vanitha turned her head. She did not turn her body. She kept her body in the mirror and she turned her face to Summer’s face, which was a half foot from hers. “Look at your skin, dear. It is the color of the inside of a shell.”

“Nordic.”

“Nordic.” Vanitha laughed, small. “And your nipples are pink.”

“They are.”

“Through the lace. I can see them.”

“Let’s take it off” they both giggled.

Summer reached behind her back.

Vanitha watched her in the mirror. The small movement of the elbow. The clasp at the middle of the lace bra getting unhooked. The soft give of the band. Summer brought the bra forward off her shoulders and down her arms and she dropped it on top of the crop top on the bench.

Vanitha felt her own breath go small.

Summer’s breasts in the mirror were the breasts Vanitha had seen in the green-velvet room at the boutique, and they were not the breasts Vanitha had seen in the green-velvet room at the boutique.

The room was different. The light was different. The light in her own bedroom was the morning light through the gauze curtain, softer than the chandelier at the boutique, and the softness lay on the top of each breast the way softness lay on a thing it loved.

“Your turn, Vanitha.”

[adams_masala]

Vanitha reached behind her back, her fingertips finding the familiar clasp of her bra. She paused, aware of Summer’s gaze on her skin, then slowly unhooked each catch with deliberate precision.


The elastic released its tension against her ribs, sending a whisper of sensation across her back. She rolled her shoulders forward, letting the straps slide down her arms like water, the fabric grazing her nipples as it fell away from her body.

The bra dangled from her fingertips for a suspended moment before she released it to join the growing collection on the bench.

They stood next to each other in the mirror, bare to the waist, with their sweet breasts fully exposed, in their skirts.

Summer turned her head. She looked at Vanitha’s breasts first in the mirror and then in the room, her chin turning the small amount it took to look at the real thing and not the reflection.

“Vanitha.”

“Don’t, dear.”

“I have to.”

“Then say it fast.”

Summer laughed. The laugh moved her breasts a small amount on her chest. Vanitha watched it move them. She felt her own mouth go up at one corner.

“Your nipples are the fair and so bright! I thought Indian nipples are of color of dark chocolate.”

“Hahah… well I am Tamil *****, we have fair skin”

“Well, they are so cute! Small, perky and young and perfect.

Vanitha laughed. She felt the heat come up her throat. She did not try to hide it.

“Stop, dear.”

“I am not stopping.” Summer turned the full way, her shoulder bumping Vanitha’s soft. “Look at them in the mirror. They are perfect. Small and high and the color is. God, Vanitha. The color is pink like a flower.”

“Summer.”

“Pale pink. Not brown. Not dark. Pink.” Summer’s eyes were on her chest in the mirror. “Ashok is a lucky man.”

Vanitha did not answer that. Her hand lifted, hovering inches from Summer’s chest, then fell away.

“And you,” she said softly, her eyes tracing the curves before her. 

“The perfect roundness, the blush of pink.. like something from a Renaissance painting.” Vanitha appreciated Summer’s beauty.

They both looked their breasts and Summer said.. “omg we look like sisters. Do you think our breasts weight the same?”

Summer’s laugh came soft next to her ear.

“Let me see.”

Summer turned her body the full way. She stepped the small half step that closed the space between them and she brought her hands up, slow, and she cupped the underside of Vanitha’s breasts in her palms. Her hands were warm. The palms were soft. The thumbs rested on the sides, not on the nipples, a small careful distance kept.

Vanitha’s breath went out of her.

“You breasts are same size.” Summer’s voice was small. She lifted her hands a small amount, weighing, the way a woman weighed fruit at the market. “Let’s see we weigh the same.”

Vanitha looked down. Summer’s fair hands under her own fair-gold skin. The small lift of her own breast in Summer’s palm. The nipple small and pink above the edge of Summer’s thumb.

“Do you want to weight mine?” She asked looking at Vanitha.

Vanitha brought her hands up. She was slow about it. She was slow because she had not done this before, not with a woman, not with anyone but herself in her own bathroom after a shower, and her palms went against the soft of Summer’s breasts from underneath the way Summer’s palms had gone against hers.

Summer’s breath caught, small.

Vanitha felt the weight of them in her hands. She felt the warm of the skin. She felt the small pebble of the nipple at the top of her palm where the nipple had hardened already against the morning air.

“Oh.”

“What?” Summer’s voice was soft.

“They are the same. Exactly.”

“I told you.”

“I thought yours were bigger at the boutique.”

“The lace. The lace made them look bigger.”

“No. It was the light. The light at the boutique lied.”
Summer laughed, one small breath, and her breasts moved in Vanitha’s hands with the laugh. Vanitha felt the small soft shake in her palms. Her own mouth went up at the corner.
They stood like that in front of the mirror, each with the other’s breasts in her hands, looking down, and then looking up at the mirror, and then looking at each other.

“Up and down, dear.” Summer’s eyes were bright. “For science.”

“For science.”

They lifted together, small, a half inch. They let them settle. 

They lifted again.

“The same, Vanitha.”

“The same.”

“To the gram.”

Vanitha laughed. It came up out of her clean the way laughs came up when a woman had not laughed a real laugh in a week, and it moved her breasts in Summer’s hands, and Summer’s in hers, and their hands lifted together with the laugh and came down, and on the coming down Vanitha’s thumb slipped.

It slipped a quarter inch up the side of Summer’s breast and across the small hard of the nipple, one clean drag of the pad of her thumb, and at the same moment Summer’s thumb did the same on the side of Vanitha’s, a soft brush up and over, the small pebble catching against the soft skin of the thumb.

Vanitha made a small sound. It came out of her nose, not her mouth. A half breath.

Summer made the same sound back. A half breath in through the teeth.

They both looked down.

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god.” she giggled..

They both laughed. It came up out of both of them at the same second, the loud girl-laugh that had nothing careful in it, the kind of laugh Vanitha had laughed on the back steps of her college in Chennai at nineteen when a friend had said a thing the friend had not meant to say.

Summer’s head went back. Vanitha’s went forward into the small warm space above Summer’s shoulder and her forehead touched the skin there for a half breath and she pulled it back.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Do not say sorry.”

“I did not mean to.”

“I did not mean to either.”

“Look at them.” Summer was looking down into Vanitha’s palms in the mirror. “Look, Vanitha.”

Vanitha looked.

The nipples had hardened. Both of them. The small pink of Summer’s had gone tight and stood up out of the soft pale of her breast a small clean amount, and the small pink of her own had done the same against her gold-fair skin, and the two of them in the mirror were a matched set of small hard pink pointed nipples in the morning light.

Vanitha laughed again. It was a different laugh this time, smaller, warmer, the kind a woman laughed at herself.

“They are like a switch.”

“They are exactly like a switch.”

“One touch,” Vanitha said, “and up they go.”

“Watch.” Summer’s thumb moved again, small, deliberate this time, a clean slow drag across the pink tip in Vanitha’s palm. The nipple went harder under the thumb. Vanitha felt it go. She felt the small pebble tighten a full half-stage, the way a bud tightened before it opened.

She did the same back. Her thumb went up the side of Summer’s breast and across the small pink and the small pink went harder, and Summer’s breath caught again, small, a half-in through the teeth.

“Oh my god, dear, stop,” Summer said, and she was laughing.

“You started it.”

“I did not.”

“You did. With the weighing.”

“The weighing was for science.”

“The weighing was not for science, Summer.”

They laughed again. It doubled both of them over a small inch, their foreheads near each other, their hands still full of each other, and the breasts in their hands shook with the laugh the way a girl’s shoulders shook with a laugh, and the nipples stayed hard, and the laugh made them no softer.

Vanitha looked down.

Both sets of pink were standing up clean off the soft of the breast under them. Hers. Summer’s. Four small hard nipple pointed in the morning light.

“Look.” Her voice was small. “They are harder, now.”

“They are much harder.”

“From the laughing?”

“From the thumb, Vanitha.” Summer grinned at her in the mirror. 

“Be honest.”

“From the thumb.”

Summer’s thumb moved one more time, small, a test, and Vanitha’s nipple answered it, and Vanitha’s own thumb moved back, small, a test of her own, and Summer’s answered, and they both looked down at the same second and they both laughed at the same second and the laugh was the kind of laugh that happened in a locked bedroom on a Sunday morning with the sun on the floor and a man downstairs with a cold coffee in his hand.

“Okay.” I think I am going to make Ashok mad. Summer took her hands off and pointed at the choli.. “should we try it on?

“Yes.” Vanitha’s hands came off Summer’s breasts slow. She did not want them to come off slow. They came off slow on their own. Her palms held the warm of Summer’s skin for a half breath after the skin was gone.

Summer’s hands came off her at the same speed. The thumbs dragged the small last quarter inch across the pink and both nipples held the hard they had been given.

“Red one, yes?”

“Red one.”

Vanitha lifted the wine-red choli off the hanger. The silk was cool against her forearm. She held it open by the shoulders the way a mother held a dress open for a daughter.

“Arms up.”

Summer lifted her arms. Vanitha went behind her. The back of Summer’s neck was warm under the damp ends of her hair, and the small clean smell that was citrus and something under it came up off her skin, and Vanitha slid the choli over the lifted arms and pulled it down.

The silk came down over Summer’s shoulders. Vanitha brought it around the front. The small hooks down the front placket were the tight front hooks the tailor had made to Summers breast cup size, five hooks in front, small, brass.

“Turn, dear.”

Summer turned. She faced Vanitha. The red silk sat open down the front, the two panels of it parted, her bare breasts between them in the frame the silk made.

Vanitha brought the two panels together.

She started at the top. Her fingers went to the small brass hook at the collarbone. She worked it through the small loop on the other side. The hook caught. She pulled the two panels a small inch closer and she did the second hook below it.

Summer’s breath was soft against Vanitha’s temple.

“Fits nicely, dear.”

“The measurements, spot on.”

“It’s so comfortable and yet it looks tight and perky.”

The third hook. The silk pulled across Summer’s chest. Vanitha watched the fabric go taut over the full of the breast, the small hard pink pushing up against the silk from the inside, a small round shadow under the wine red.

“Vanitha, your hair is tickling me.”

“Sorry, dear.” Vanitha lifted her head back. She pulled her knot tighter at the top and let the damp ends fall down her own back. She went back to the hook.

The fourth hook. The silk was tighter now. She had to pull the two panels the small extra amount to get the brass through the loop. The silk went taut under her fingers and the weight of Summer’s breasts pushed up against the silk and the small round of the top of each rose a clean half inch above the edge of the neckline.

“Oh.”

“What, dear.”

“Look down, Summer.”
Summer looked down. Her chin went to her chest. Vanitha felt her smile before she saw it.

“Vanitha.”

“The stitchers did a good job, dear.”

“The stitchers did a very good job, but the measurements…”

The fifth hook. The last one. Vanitha worked it through, slow, and the silk closed the last half inch at the bottom of the placket and sat clean against the soft of Summer’s midriff.
Vanitha stepped back a half step.

The wine red silk sat on Summer the way the tailor had promised it would sit. Tight across the chest. The small gold leaf pattern catching the morning light. The low scoop at the neckline framing the top of each breast, the soft fair of her skin above the dark wine red. The high cut at the midriff sitting a hand’s width above the waistband of the white ruffle skirt. The small gold chain on her hip visible in the bare strip between the choli and the skirt.

“Dear.”

“Yes, Vanitha.”

“You are a woman who should be wearing a saree every day of her life.”

Summer’s mouth went up at both corners this time. The half was gone. She turned to the mirror. Vanitha watched her face in the glass. She watched Summer’s eyes go down from her own throat to the dark wine red across her chest to the small gold chain at her hip, and she watched the eyes come back up.

“Vanitha.”

“Yes.”

“I am going to cry.”

“Do not cry, dear. Your mascara.”

“I am going to, I think I made an amazing friend.” They hugged, forgetting Vanitha still bare breasted and squishing in in the process.

[NovelNavel]

Looks like lesbian is on the way. Very nice

[adams_masala]

Looks like lesbian is on the way. Very nice

You will never know my friend.

[NovelNavel]

You will never know my friend.

Yes friend i never know. I read but still cant understand about the characters and where things are heading to.   

[adams_masala]

Yes friend i never know. I read but still cant understand about the characters and where things are heading to.   

Sometimes even I don’t know, my mind thinks and enjoys different things and it comes out. Hope you are enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

[adams_masala]

Then Summer returns the favor, her cool fingers working each brass hook with deliberate care.

The silk tightens across Vanitha’s chest with each closure, the wine-red fabric embracing her curves like a second skin. When she finishes, Summer’s palms smooth the fabric where it clings to the swell of Vanitha’s breasts, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she adjusts the neckline to perfectly frame Vanitha’s collarbone.


Scene 3

“Wait, dear.” Vanitha stepped back from the hug. She looked at Summer in the mirror and she looked at her in the room and she could not decide which was better. “Phone. We need the phone.”

“Yes.”

Vanitha went to the vanity. Her iPhone sat next to the small brass bowl where she kept her hairpins. She picked it up. The screen woke to her face.

“Come here, dear.”

Summer came. She came in the small heels and the white ruffle skirt and the wine-red silk across her chest, and she stopped next to Vanitha at the middle of the room where the light from the window sat clean on the floor.

Vanitha lifted the phone out in front of them. She held it the way she held it for her reels, arm out, a small tilt down. Summer pressed her cheek against hers. The damp ends of Vanitha’s hair touched Summer’s temple and Summer did not move away.

“Smile, dear.”

“I am.”

Vanitha tapped the shutter five times… chin up, chin down, a laugh, Summer’s hand on her shoulder above the cream choli. 

“Let me see.” Summer leaned in, wine-red silk brushing Vanitha’s arm. Vanitha scrolled: the mirror behind them, gold leaf catching light, Summer’s hip chain peeking into one frame. 

“Vanitha.”

“What?”

“We look like friends of ten years.” 

“Like sisters.”

“Different mothers.” 

Vanitha laughed. “One more.. close-up of the choli for the reel. I want to show what the app did.” 

They pressed cheeks. Vanitha triple… tapped.

“Smile bigger.”

“I am.”

“Like we have a secret.”

“We do.” 

Summer laughed. Vanitha caught two perfect frames.. wide grins, wine-red silk, gold hoop glinting. 

“Okay.. now just the choli.” 

Summer squared her chest to the phone, face out of view. Vanitha filmed the deep scoop of silk, the gold leaf, the soft curve above the neckline, the faint pink pebble of skin beneath. 

Vanitha was satisfied with the pictures for the real.

Summer unfastened each brass hook of her choli, the panels falling open to reveal her breasts completely. She hung the choli carefully on the stand.

Vanitha did the same, the wine-red silk sliding away from her chest and the choli came off completely.

They stood facing each other, their naked breasts fully exposed to the morning light streaming through the window, nipples tightening in the cool air.

When Vanitha reached for her black bra on the vanity, Summer’s hand caught her wrist. “Wait,” she whispered, eyes lingering on Vanitha’s bare chest. “Let’s take another selfie... just for us.”

Vanitha let the bra go. The black elastic slid off the edge of her palm and landed soft on the vanity. She picked up the phone again.

“Come, dear.”

Summer came. She came close this time. She stopped a half step from Vanitha’s shoulder. Her bare arm brushed Vanitha’s bare arm.

Vanitha held the phone up the way she had held it before.

She looked at the small square of the screen. Their two faces in the frame. Their two sets of bare shoulders. Below the shoulders the top of the phone cut the frame and the bare of the rest of them sat out of the picture. She tilted the phone a small amount.

The frame changed.

She saw both of them now, from the knot of hair on top of her own head down to the waistband of each of their skirts.

The two pairs of bare breasts in the morning light. Hers gold-fair. Summer’s pale. The small pink nipples still tight from before. Same size, same weight, same heft!

“Oh, Vanitha.”

“I know, dear.”

“Take it.”

She tapped the shutter. The small click of the shutter sound was loud in the bedroom.

She tapped it again. She tapped it a third time. Summer shifted a half inch closer on the third tap and her breast brushed the side of Vanitha’s arm. The last picture just their breasts and face Summers right breast almost touching Vanitha’s left breast.

“Let me see, Vanitha” Summers looked at Vanitha’s phone.

“I am going to put them in the hidden folder, dear.”

“You have a hidden folder.”

“Every woman with an Instagram has a hidden folder.”

“Show me yours.”

Vanitha tapped the album icon. She tapped the small lock at the bottom. She typed the six digits with her thumb, quick, and the hidden folder opened. She did not think about the hidden folder. 

She was thinking about the last picture and the small pink and the warm side of Summer’s breast against her arm.

“Come, dear. Look.”

iPhone Photos Hidden Folder opened up on her phone and she gave the phone to summer.

Summer took the phone. She held it flat in her palm. She swiped.

The top row was the three selfies from a minute ago. The bare shoulders. The two sets of pink against the two colors of skin. The last one with the small brush of breast on breast. Summer laughed, small, at the last one.

“Vanitha. That last one.”

“I know, dear.”

Summer swiped down the row. The next row was older. Vanitha knew what was in the next rows. She almost forgot what was in all of them. She had put things in here over ten months, small things, the way a woman put things in a drawer she did not open often.

A picture of her own feet in the bathtub with the water to her ankles. A picture of the small bruise she had gotten on her hip at the gym in March. A picture of a page from a book she had not wanted Ashok to know she was reading. A picture of Selvam’s back at the stove in Chennai in February, the grey t-shirt, the small line of sweat down the center of it from the run he had come back from, a picture she had taken from the door of the kitchen when he had not turned around.

She was not thinking about the other pictures.

She should have been thinking about the other pictures.

Summer’s thumb swiped.

The swipe went past the bathtub and past the bruise and past the page and past the back in the grey t-shirt and then it did not stop where Vanitha thought it would stop, and the screen filled with a picture that was not a picture of a foot or a book or a back.

The picture was her own face.

Her own mouth. Her own mouth open around the head of a cock. The cock was thick. The cock was at the side of her cheek, pushing the soft of it out a small amount, the way a cock pushed a cheek out when a woman had a cock in her mouth. Her own eyes looked up out of the frame at the person holding the camera, which had been the person the cock belonged to. The pubic hair at the base of the cock was salt and pepper. Mostly pepper. Some salt. The salt caught the light.

Vanitha’s stomach went small and tight.

[adams_masala]

She did not reach for the phone. She did not move her hand. 

She stood next to Summer with her breasts bare in the morning light and the knot at the top of her head half-coming-down and she watched Summer’s face in the small slice of it she could see from the side.


Summer was laughing.

Summer was laughing the small laugh she had been laughing all morning, one breath of it, and her thumb was hovering over the screen and her mouth was open a small amount, the way a mouth was open when a woman was about to say a thing she had already decided to say.

“Vanitha!” Summer’s voice was loud. “Oh my god, Vanitha!”

Her eyes were wide. “Look at you, girl! Look at him!”

Vanitha felt her cheeks go red. “OMG, Ashok is so big!”

Summer was laughing again, her lips parted.

“You are one lucky girl, Vanitha. I didn’t know Indian men are that big.”

She swiped, fending off Vanitha’s hand to grab her phone.

She looked at the next photo, this one more shaft, still the cock head in Vanitha’s mouth. Her eyes looking at the camera.

“Ashok has salt and pepper hair already? Damn, Vanitha, I did not know. He looks like he is…” 

The laugh stopped.

Vanitha watched it stop. She watched the corner of Summer’s mouth, the one that had been up, come down. She watched Summer’s head tilt a small quarter inch forward. She watched the thumb on the screen go still.

“Wait.”

Summer was still looking down.

“Wait. That is...”

Vanitha’s hand came up. She did not think about her hand. It went to her own mouth. She pressed her fingers against her lips. She shook her head, small, one short shake, a thing she did not mean to do and did anyway.

Summer’s eyes came off the screen.

They came up slow, up the line of Vanitha’s arm, and they landed on Vanitha’s face. Summer’s mouth was a small open thing. The hazel of her eyes had gone wide, the way eyes went wide when a thing slotted into a place a thing had not been in a breath ago.

“Vanitha.”

She said it soft.


“Vanitha. Wait... whose cock is that?”

[adams_masala]

“Vanitha. Wait... whose cock is that?”


Vanitha’s fingers went harder against her own lips. She shook her head again. She did not trust her mouth. She flicked her eyes at the door. She flicked them at the floor under the door, where the thin line of light came in from the hall. She brought them back to Summer’s face.

“Shh.”

She did it with her eyes. She did it with the small hard press of her fingers on her mouth.

“Shh, dear.”

Summer’s thumb hovered over the screen. She did not swipe. She did not give the phone back.

Vanitha took her fingers off her lips.

She reached out. She put her hand over Summer’s hand on the phone, soft, not a grab, a press. She guided Summer’s hand down, slow, until the screen faced Vanitha’s own thigh and the picture was not pointing at the light anymore.

“Summer.” Her voice came out small. It came out the way a voice came out when a woman had not used it for a minute.

“Sit, dear.”

“Vanitha.”

“Sit. On the bench. Please.”

Summer sat.

She sat slow. The white ruffle skirt rode up on her thigh when she sat and she did not pull it down. She kept the phone in her hand. She kept her eyes on Vanitha’s face.

“Dear.” Vanitha did not know where to put her hands. She put them in her lap. She looked at her own hands. “Dear, I...”

“Vanitha.”

“Let me.”

“Okay.”

Vanitha breathed in. She breathed out. She looked at the small line of light under the bedroom door. She looked back at her own hands.

“It is not Ashok.”

“I can see that.”

“I know, dear.”

“Ashok is not...” Summer’s mouth did the small thing. She was choosing words.

She kept her eyes on her own hands in her lap. The skin over her knuckles had gone white where she had pressed them together. She let them go. She breathed out.

“And Ashok probably, I am assuming, he does not have grey hair down there, right??.”

“No.”

“Vanitha.”

“I know, dear.”

Summer was quiet for a breath. Vanitha did not look up. She could not look up. She could feel the small heat of Summer’s eyes on the side of her face and she could feel the silk at the top of the choli across her own bare chest not being there, because the choli was on the bench next to Summer, and she was sitting on the edge of the bed with her breasts bare in the morning light and her father-in-law’s cock on her phone in her friend’s hand.

“Th.. then… Who is it, Vanitha.”

Vanitha made her mouth move.

“You know who it is, dear.”

She said it to her own hands. She said it soft. She said it because she could not lie to Summer, not now, not with Summer has become someone like a sister.

Summer did not say anything for a long breath.

Vanitha made herself look up.

Summer’s face was doing a thing Vanitha had not seen it do. The hazel of her eyes was wide and the small half-corner at the mouth was gone and in its place was a thing that was not shock and was not judgment and was not either of those, and Vanitha looked for the name of it and could not find the name of it.

“Selvam.”

Summer said the word small. She did not say it like a question. She said it the way a woman said a word when she had already known the word and was only saying it to hear it out loud.

Vanitha nodded.

One small nod. She kept nodding for a breath longer than the nod. She made herself stop.

“Oh my god.”

“Shh, dear. Please.”

“Oh my god, Vanitha.”

“Dear.”

Summer looked down at the phone. Her thumb swiped, once, small, before Vanitha could say anything.

The next picture came up. Vanitha knew the picture. She knew all of them in that row. She had put them there herself at night in the studio in Chennai with the door locked and the sound off.

[adams_masala]

This one was her on her knees. The silk of her choli open at the front. Her own hand at the base of him. The salt-pepper hair. The thick of his cock against her cheek. Her eyes up at the camera. Her mouth open.


Summer’s lips parted. She did not say anything. Her thumb swiped again.

“Summer, dear. Please.” Vanitha’s voice came out small

“Not so loud.”

“I am not saying anything.”

“Your face is.”

Summer looked up at her. The hazel had gone bright the way eyes went bright when a thing had woken up behind them.

“Vanitha.”

“Dear.”

“How long.”

Vanitha looked at the door. The small line of light. No shadow. 

No foot at the sill. She looked back.

“Ten months.”

“Ten months.”

“Since I went to his home in Chennai, last year. Since....” 

Vanitha put her hand on her own throat where the thali chain was not. Where the leaf pendant would have sat if she had put it on after the shower. “Since before his birthday in January.”

Summer’s thumb swiped again. Vanitha saw the screen flicker against Summer’s thigh. She did not look at the screen. She had taken the pictures. She knew which ones were in which order.

“Oh, Vanitha.”

“Dear, please do not.”

“I am not doing anything, dear.”

“Your face.”

“My face is my face.”

Summer swiped again. Her mouth came open a small amount on one of them. Vanitha knew which one. The one in the Saree Sanctuary with her back against the cream wall and the low light and the silk of the green saree pooled at her feet and Selvam behind her with his arm across her chest.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“He is…”

“Do not say it, dear.”

“I was going to say he is huge, Vanitha.”

Vanitha’s hand went up to her mouth.

“Summer.”

“I am sorry. I am sorry. That was the wrong thing.” Summer’s voice had gone small. “I am not thinking straight.”

“Neither am I, dear.”

Summer put the phone face down on the bench next to her. She did it slow. She did it the way a person put down a thing they did not want to be holding anymore.

She looked up at Vanitha.

“Come sit, dear.”

Vanitha came. Her legs did not feel like her legs. She sat even close to her rubbing her bare arm.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“Look at me.”

Vanitha looked. Summer’s face was close. The hazel was warm again, the bright gone, a softness in its place.

“I am not going to tell anyone.”

[adams_masala]

Vanitha’s breath came out in one long piece. She had not known she had been holding it. Her shoulders went down a half inch. Her hands, which she had been pressing together in her lap, came apart.


“Dear.”

“I am not, Vanitha. I want you to hear me say it. I am not going to tell Ashok. I am not going to tell a single person.”

“Summer.”

“Look at me, dear. I am telling you.”

“I hear you, dear.”

Summer’s hand came up. She put it on Vanitha’s knee. The palm was warm through the thin cotton of the skirt.

“You are my friend, Vanitha.”

Vanitha’s eyes went hot. She blinked. One tear came down the side of her nose and she caught it with the back of her wrist before it could get to her mouth.

“Dear.”

“Do not cry, Vanitha.”

“I am not crying.”

“You are crying a little.”

Vanitha laughed, one small breath of it, and it shook the tears off her cheek. “Dear.”

“There.” Summer’s thumb came up and caught the second tear before it got to Vanitha’s jaw. She wiped it on the white ruffle of her own skirt. “Look. Disposed of.”

Vanitha laughed again. A bigger laugh this time. Her bare breasts moved with it and Summer’s eyes went down to them for a half breath and came back up and Summer laughed at herself for the looking.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“Okay. Okay, we are not crying. We are not doing the crying thing.” Summer picked the phone back up off the bench. She held it flat in her palm. She did not wake the screen yet. “Can I tell you something, dear.”

“What, dear.”

“Your father-in-law is so hung.”

Vanitha’s mouth fell open. She did not mean for it to fall open. It went on its own.

“Summer!”

“I am sorry. I am so sorry. I had to say it.” Summer’s shoulders were shaking. The small laugh was coming up out of her in a way Vanitha had not seen Summer’s laugh come up.

“I have been holding it since the first picture. Vanitha. I have never. In my life.”

“Summer, dear.”

“Never.”

“Summer.”

“I am an American girl. I have seen things, my ex-boyfriend etc. 

I know what a man looks like.” Summer shook her head, small, one short shake. “That is not what a man looks like. That is what a man is drawn as.”

Vanitha’s hand went up to her mouth. Her own laugh came up under the hand. It came up from her belly the way her laugh had come up in college when a friend had said a thing the friend should not have said, the kind of laugh that had nowhere to go, and she pressed her palm hard against her lips to hold it in because the door, because the man the cock belonged to was downstairs away with a cold coffee.

“Summer, shh.”

“I am shushing,” Summer whispered, her own palm clamped over her mouth. Her shoulders kept shaking. Her eyes above the hand were bright and wet with the laugh.

Vanitha pulled Summer’s hand down off her mouth.

“Dear, be quiet. The door.”

“The door is closed, Vanitha.”

“The door is not soundproof.”

“Okay.” Summer breathed in. She breathed out. She shook her head at herself. “Okay. I am going to be a quiet American girl. Watch me be quiet.”

She woke the screen.

The picture came up again, the one she had stopped on. The close of his cock at Vanitha’s cheek. The salt-pepper at the base.

Summer tilted the phone so Vanitha could see it too. The screen was warm against the side of Vanitha’s arm.

“Vanitha.” Summer’s voice had gone to a whisper. “Look at you in this one.”

“Summer.”

“No, look, Vanitha. Look at your mouth. Look at your eye. Look at the way your lashes are.”

Vanitha looked.

[adams_masala]

Her own mouth in the picture. The small open of it. The way her bottom lip sat soft against the underside of him. Her eye up at the camera. The lash wet at the corner from the shine of the flash. She looked at it and she did not know the woman in the picture for a half breath and then she knew her, and the heat came up her throat slow.


“See,” Summer whispered. “You look like the cover of a magazine, Vanitha. A very bad magazine. A magazine my roommate would buy.”

Vanitha’s palm went back to her mouth.

“And him, dear. God.” Summer tilted her head the small quarter to the side. “The salt and pepper. It is a whole thing. I did not know it was a thing. It is a thing.”

“Summer.”

“It is a thing now. I have decided.”

Summer’s thumb moved. The screen changed.

The next picture came up. Vanitha felt her own stomach drop the small drop it did when she saw one of them for the first time in a week.

Selvam’s bed in Chennai. The carved teak headboard behind her head. The red cotton spread under her. She was on her back on the spread. Her knees were up. Selvam was above the frame, his cock in his own hand at the base, the tip of it on her lip. The picture had been taken from his side of the bed. His POV. His arm in the bottom of the frame, the small grey hair on the forearm, the gold watch he wore in Chennai on the wrist.

“Oh.” Summer’s voice went soft. “Oh, Vanitha.”

“Summer, shh.”

“His bed?”

“His bed.”

“I can see the headboard, dear. The wood. That is a man’s bed. A serious man’s bed.”

“Summer.”

“And look at your face. Look at your face on his pillow. Vanitha. You look…” Summer shook her head, small, once. “You look like a woman who is being worshipped.”

Vanitha’s cheek went hot. She did not trust her voice.

Summer’s thumb moved.

The next picture came up. The same bed. A different angle. 

Vanitha on her side now. The silk of a red petticoat pushed up to her waist. Her leg lifted. Selvam’s hand on the back of her thigh. 

His cock at the soft of her, pushing in, the picture caught at the halfway. He had held the phone out with his other hand, down the line of his own chest, and the top of the frame was the small grey hair on his chest and the bottom of the frame was the place where he went into her and the middle of it was her face turned against the pillow with her eyes closed.

Summer breathed out, slow, through her nose.

“Vanitha.”

“Dear.”

“That is a good picture, Vaintha.”

“Summer.”

“I mean it as a friend. As a woman. As a person with eyes.” 

Summer’s voice had gone a half shade lower. “You look like a sex goddess under him in this picture.”

“It was his phone. He took most of them.”

“Of course he did.” Summer nodded, small, to herself.

“Of course he did. A man who sets up the shot like that. A man who holds his phone out over his own chest to get the angle. Vanitha, your father-in-law has a camera eye.”

“Summer, stop.”

“I am noticing things, dear.”

“Notice them quieter.”

Summer laughed into her own palm. Her shoulders did the small shake again. Vanitha felt the shake against her bare arm where their arms touched and the shake went into her and she laughed too, small, into her own hand.

The thumb moved.

The next picture was a different room.

[adams_masala]

Vanitha recognized it the second the screen lit. The puja room off the hall in the Chennai house. She remembered the cool of the marble under her.


She was on her knees in the picture. Her saree was pooled around her the way a saree pooled when a woman had let it fall. Her choli was open at the front.

Selvam was kneeling behind her, his cock buried inside her, the base of it visible where their bodies joined. His hand was at her throat, flat, the fingers soft across the bone.

His other hand held the phone out to the side. The mirror on the wall of the puja room caught the half of them the phone had not caught, and in the mirror Vanitha saw her own bare breast swaying with the thrust, his hand at her throat, and the thali chain around his fingers where he had lifted it off her skin as he drove himself deeper.

Summer was quiet for a breath.

“Vanitha.”

“I know, dear.”

“Is that…”

“It is the puja room. Yes.”

“The room with the…”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh my god.”

“Summer.”

“I am not judging, dear. I am just. I did not know. I did not know this was a thing that happened in a house.”

“It happened. After the pooja. After the aarti. I had not. I had not meant to stay for the aarti, and then I stayed, and then…” Vanitha waved her hand at the screen, small, a gesture that meant everything the words were not going to. “Then that.”

“In front of…”

“In front of.”

“Vanitha.” Summer’s voice was small. It had gone down from the laughing voice and it was the other voice, the one that had been at the cafe, the one that had been at the gas station notifications. “That is…”

“Say it, dear.”

“That is the hottest thing I have ever seen.”

Vanitha’s mouth fell open. She did not mean for it to fall open. It went on its own for the second time in five minutes.

“Summer!”

“I am telling you as your friend.”

“You are telling me as a woman who is losing her mind.”

“Maybe both.” Summer was smiling at the screen. The small half corner had come back and it was not a half anymore.

“Vanitha. Look at his hand on your throat. It is not a grab. It is a hold. There is a difference.”

“I know there is a difference, dear.”

“Of course you know. Of course you do. You are the woman in the picture.” Summer laughed at herself, small. “I am. I am not being a professional right now.”

“Neither am I.”

The thumb moved.

The next picture. The same bed in Chennai.

[adams_masala]

The morning light. She could tell from the light that it was morning and it was the Chennai morning, the hard bright of it through the window different from the softer American light of her own bedroom. Selvam on his back. Her on top of him. The phone held out by him from below, the angle up her body from the underside, and the frame caught the curve of her breast from below and the line of her belly and the small round of her navel and the place where she sat on him, half in, the silk of her petticoat bunched at her thigh.


“Oh.”

“Summer, please.”

“I am whispering.”

“Barely.”

“Vanitha. Look at the angle. He held the phone out for this. His own arm down by his hip. He wanted this angle. He wanted your body from under. He wanted to see what you looked like from where he was.”

Vanitha did look.

She looked at the small line of her own stomach in the picture. 

She looked at the soft round of her breast from the side and under, the way a breast looked from the angle a man looked at it from under. She looked at the small shine of sweat on her own collarbone. She had not known she had that much sweat on her collarbone. The picture told her she did.

“He takes good pictures, Vanitha,” she said, small, to the screen.

“He takes very good pictures.”

She heard herself. “I have not said this out loud, dear.”

“Say it, dear.”

“He made it feel like a thing. Like a photo shoot. Like I was the woman in his reel, and he was. He was the one with the camera, the one who knew where the light was.”

“Vanitha, he made you feel like the only woman in the world.”

Vanitha’s eye went hot again. She blinked hard and she did not let the tear out.

“He did, dear.”

“Okay.” Summer nodded at the screen, small, one nod. “Okay.

Summer’s thumb moved.

The next picture came up and Vanitha felt her own stomach do the small drop it did every time one of these came up fresh on a screen that was not hers alone.

It was the bed in Chennai again. The red cotton spread. She was 
on her back in missionary. Her knees were up and apart. The phone had been held by Selvam from above, his arm out the full length, and the frame caught her from her hip and above. Her thighs spread on both sides of the frame. The place where he was, where he had been, was the middle of the frame, and the middle of the frame was his cock in his own hand at the base, the head of it just about to go inside her, the full of the shaft out in the light, every vein of it clean.

Summer did not say anything for one long breath.

Vanitha heard her breath go in through her nose. She heard it come out slow.

“Vanitha.” Summer’s voice had gone to the whisper voice. It was not the laughing whisper now. It was a different one. “Vanitha, may I look at this one.”

“Dear.”

“I am asking you. As a friend. May I look at your father-in-law’s cock for more than a second.”

[adams_masala]

Vanitha laughed. She could not help the laugh. It came up out of her small and she bumped her shoulder against Summer’s shoulder.


“Summer.”

“I am asking permission, Vanitha. I am being a good friend… being a good sister, before looking at her man’s cock”

“Look, dear.”

“Thank you.”

Summer did not take her eyes off the screen. She held the phone a small half inch closer to her face. Her lip had gone between her teeth. The small white of her teeth on the pink of her bottom lip and her eyes had gone the bright they had gone at the gas station.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“I am looking at his cock.”

“You are.”

“The shaft, Vanitha. Look at the shaft. Look at the vein down the length of it.”

“Summer.”

“No, look. The big one. The one that runs from the base up to the head. It is like a rope, dear.”

“Summer, please.”

“I am whispering.”

“You are not.”

Summer pressed her palm against her own mouth for one breath. She breathed in through her nose. She took the palm down.

“The head, Vanitha. Look at the head. It is the color of a plum. A ripe one.”

“Summer.”

“And the salt pepper at the base. Vanitha. Against the shaft. 

Against the skin of the shaft which is darker than the rest of him. God.” Summer shook her head small.

“Who gave him permission to look like that.”

Vanitha’s cheek had gone hot. She felt the heat move down her throat to her bare chest and she looked down at her own chest and the pink of her own nipples had gone a shade darker and the heat in her cheeks went another shade up.

“Summer, dear.”

“What, Vanitha.”

“Your mouth is open.”

“I know it is open.”

“Close it, dear.”

“I am trying.” Summer laughed, one breath of it, small, still against the screen.

“Vanitha. I am losing control a small amount. I am going to need a glass of water.”

“Summer.”

“The veins, Vanitha. The veins.”

Vanitha put her hand over her own face. The laugh came up under the hand. It was a different laugh than the first one.

It was the laugh of a woman who had been found out and who had a friend now, and the being-found-out was the thing that had made the friend, and the laugh did not know where to go and went into her palm.

“Summer, stop.”

“I will stop. One second. One more second.”

Summer swiped.

The next picture came up.

[adams_masala]

It was the same bed. The same spread. The same nakedness, a small amount more pushed up. The same angle from above. Except this time the shaft was gone. The full of his cock was gone. His hand was not on the base anymore. His hand had come up. His hand was flat across her breast, the whole of his palm over the soft of it, the fingers spread wide, the thumb at the side of her nipple, the grip of a man who had put his hand down on a thing that was his.


The place where his body met hers, where his cock had been in the frame a second ago, was a small dark line now. The hair at the base of him against the fair of her, pressed soft. His cock was buried all the way inside Vanitha.

Summer stopped breathing.

Vanitha watched her stop. She watched Summer’s bare breasts raise and fall, fully exposed, one half second, two.

“Oh.”

“Dear.”

“Vanitha.” Summer’s voice came out small. Her thumb did not move. It was hovering. “Vanitha. Where. Where did it go.”

Vanitha’s laugh came up again, small, a bubble under her palm.

“Inside me.” She was proud!

“Vanitha, I know. I am asking how.”

“Summer.”

“I am looking at the first picture in my head and I am looking at this one on the screen and the math is not mathing, dear.”

“The math mathed.”

“Vanitha.”

“It mathed, dear.”

Summer swiped back. The first picture came up again. The shaft in the full of the light. The head just inside. She looked at it. She swiped forward. The second picture. The hand on the breast. The small dark line of the base against the soft of her vaginal entrance. She swiped back. She swiped forward.

“Summer.”

“One second.”

“Dear.”

“I am calibrating.”

Vanitha laughed. She could not help the laugh. It came up in her belly and it moved her bare breasts against her own arm and she pressed her palm harder against her mouth.

Summer stopped on the second one. She held there. Her eyes went to the hand on the breast. They stayed on the hand.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“That hand, dear.”

“I know, right?”

“That is not a hand on a breast. That is a hand on his breast.”

Vanitha’s heat went up another shade. She felt it in her ears. 

She did not trust her mouth.

“His.” Summer said the word again, soft, small.

“He has put his hand on it like he owns it. The thumb. The way the thumb sits. The thumb is not moving in that picture. It is resting. It is settled. That is a man who has decided where the thumb is going to sit and has put the thumb there, pressing that button of your nipple.”

“Summer.”

“The fingers, Vanitha. Look how wide the fingers are. The full palm. He is not cupping. He is holding. He is holding the way a man holds a thing he does not want to put down.”

Vanitha closed her eyes.

She closed them because she did not want to see the picture and she did not want Summer to see her face while she saw the picture. She felt the pull, the small warm pull low in her belly.

She opened her eyes.

Summer was looking at her.

Summer’s eyes were warm and bright and the hazel was the wide of it and the small half corner was back and there was no laugh in it now.

“Dear.”

“What, Summer.”

“You are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Vanitha, your chest, your breasts are pink.”

Vanitha looked down. Her chest was pink. The pink had come up from her belly to her collarbone. Her own nipples had gone the small hard they had gone at the weighing. She lifted her hand off her mouth and she put it over her chest, flat, the way a woman put a hand over a chest to hide a thing that could not be hidden by a hand.

“Summer, dear.”

“I am not teasing, dear.”

“You are.”

“I am a little. I am mostly not.”

Summer took her eyes off Vanitha’s chest. She put the phone flat on her own thigh, screen up, the picture still there in the cream of her lap. She breathed in. She breathed out.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“I am having a moment, Vanitha.”

“I see you are having a moment.”

“I am having a moment about your father-in-law.”

“Summer.”

“I know. I am going to stop. I am going to stop in one second.” Summer looked down at the phone again. She did not stop. Her thumb moved once more, slow, the smallest push, and the screen changed.

Vanitha knew the next one before it came up.

The screen changed.

[adams_masala]

The picture came up and Vanitha felt the small drop in her stomach because she knew where this one had been taken. The backyard. Selvam’s backyard in Chennai.


She was fully naked in the picture. Not a thing on her. She was on her knees on the grass. Her breasts bare in the open air. Her nipples hard.

Selvam was standing in front of her. His cock was out in the full of the light. His cock head was inches from her mouth.

Vanitha had her mouth open tongue stuck out with her big eyes sparkling with excitement for what’s about to happen and her lashes big and alive.

Summer made a sound. It was not a word. It was a small breath in through her teeth, the kind of breath a person took when a picture had knocked the air out of them.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“Vanitha, look at you.”

Vanitha looked.

Summer’s mouth was open. Not a small open. A full one.

“Vanitha. You look like a queen.”

“Summer.”

“A queen, dear. Look at your face. Look at the way you are looking up at him. You are not looking at him like a girl. You are looking at him like you know what he is going to do and you want him to do it.

Vanitha’s tongue pressed against her own teeth. She looked at the picture of herself. The tongue out. The mouth open. The big of her eyes up at him. The lash wet at the corner. The small shine of spit on her bottom lip.

She remembered the second before the shutter. She remembered the small pulse at the tip of his cock, the small throb of the head a half inch from her tongue, the vein down the length of it standing full, the weight of him in the air above her mouth.

Summer’s thumb moved.

[adams_masala]

The next picture came up.


Vanitha felt the small heat go up her chest the way it had gone up her chest in Chennai in the backyard at the moment the shutter had caught.

Summer made the small breath-in-through-teeth sound again.

Selvam’s cock in the middle of the frame. The shaft in his own hand, the fingers at the base. The head pointed down at her. The thick rope of his seed out of him in a clean arc, caught by the shutter at the mid-flight, a white line from his cock across the soft of her mouth, up the side of her cheek, the end of it at the lash of her left eye. Her face turned up. Her mouth still open. Her eyes half-closed against the hit of it. The second rope already coming out of the tip behind the first, smaller, the second wave of him.

Summer did not breathe for a half second.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“Vanitha, he came on your face.”

“Ye.. yes..he did.”

“He came all over your face.”

“Summer.” She whispered

“I can see it, dear. I can see the. It is on your eye. It is on your lip. It is going down your cheek.” 

Summer’s voice had gone small. “Vanitha. He painted you.”

Vanitha could not speak. Her mouth had gone dry. She sat next to Summer on the bench with her bare chest pink and her nipples hard and her own thighs pressed together under the white skirt and she did not trust her voice.

Summer’s thumb moved.

The next picture.

The facial. Her face full in the frame. Her eyes closed now. Her mouth still soft-open. The cum on her face. On her forehead at the hairline. A second line across the bridge of her nose. A thick pool on her cheek. A string from the corner of her mouth to her chin. The white of him bright against the gold-fair of her skin.

The picture had no cock in it. The picture had no man in it. The picture was her face and what he had put on it.

“Oh my god, Vanitha.”

“Summer, dear.”

“Your face.”

“I know.”

“Your face, dear.”

Summer’s thumb was still. It did not move. She was looking at the picture the way a person looked at a picture they could not stop looking at.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“You look like a goddess in this one.”

“Summer, stop.”

“I am not stopping. Look at your mouth. Look how soft it is. Look how still your face is. You are not flinching. You are not wiping. You are sitting in it.

Vanitha did not answer. She did not have an answer.

Summer’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “There is just... so much of him, so much cum Vanitha. It’s dripping from your lashes, pooling in the hollow of your cheek. I can almost feel how warm it must have been when it hit your skin.”
Summer swiped.

[adams_masala]

Summer swiped.


The last one.

Vanitha knew this one. She had taken this one herself.

Her face filled the frame. She had wiped her eye clean with the side of her thumb so she could open it. Her eyes were open now, big, bright, the small smile at one corner of her mouth. Her mouth open wide. Her tongue out flat. Nothing on the tongue. 

The inside of her mouth clean.

She was showing the camera that she had swallowed.

The cum on her cheek and forehead and the bridge of her nose still in the picture. The tongue out and empty. The small proud lift of her chin.

Summer did not say anything for a breath.

Then she put her hand over her own mouth.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“Vanitha, you swallowed.”

“I swallowed.”

“You are showing him.”

“I am showing him.”

“Vanitha, you look so proud.”

“I was proud, dear.”

Summer looked up from the phone. She turned her head on her neck the small amount she had to turn it to look at Vanitha’s face. The hazel was wide. The small half corner was not a half corner. It was gone. Her mouth was a little open. Her chest was going up and down slow.

Vanitha looked back. She could not not look back.

Summer’s thigh against her thigh on the bench. Summer’s bare breast a hand’s width from Vanitha’s bare arm, the small pink nipple still the pink it had gone when they had weighed them, not softer.

Vanitha could hear her own heart.

She could hear Summer’s breath.

“Dear,” she said. Her voice came out small. “Dear, put it down.”

“Okay.”

Summer put the phone face down on the bench. She did it slow. She did not take her eyes off Vanitha’s face.

“Vanitha.”

“Mm.”

“I have a problem.”

“What, dear.”

“I cannot unsee those.”

“I know.”

“I am not going to unsee those, Vanitha. I am going to see them in my head when I close my eyes tonight.”

“Summer.”

“I am telling you because we are friends and I do not want to lie to you about what is in my head.”

Vanitha’s throat went tight. She breathed in. She breathed out. She did not look away from Summer’s face.

“Vanitha.”

“What, dear.”

“Can I ask one question.”

“One question.”

“How did you.” Summer breathed in. “How did it start.”

Vanitha felt the heat go up her chest again. She looked at the door. The small line of light. No shadow. No foot.

[adams_masala]

“Later, dear.”


“Later?”

“We will have a night. You and me. A bottle of something. I will tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I will tell you all of it.”

“All of it?”

“All of it, dear.”

Summer’s mouth was a full smile now. The small half was gone and the full was there and the bright in her eyes was the bright Vanitha had seen at the gas station at the notifications.

“Okay, Vanitha.”

“Okay.”

Vanitha picked the phone up off the bench. She tapped the home button. The last picture went dark on the screen. She did not look at the picture. She did not need to.

She went to the folder. She scrolled back up to the top. The three selfies from the morning were there. The bare shoulders. 

The pink against the fair. The last one with the small brush of breast on breast. She tapped the first one. She held her thumb on it.

A small menu came up. Move. Copy. Share. Delete.

She tapped Share.

The share sheet slid up. She tapped Summer’s name at the top of the row. The three photos moved from her phone to Summer’s with the small whoosh the phone made when a picture went.

Summer’s phone buzzed in the small bag on the bench.

“Vanitha.”

“Only the three, dear. The ones from this morning.”

“Not the. The others?”

“Not the others, dear. Those stay here.”

“Okay.”

“The other ones. Do you promise me something.”

“Anything, dear.”

Vanitha put her hand on Summer’s knee. The white ruffle was soft under her palm. She looked at Summer’s face.

“You will not tell Selvam you saw, these pictures” Vanitha said, her voice even… gentle, but carrying a note of gravity.

Summer’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but as if weighing the seriousness of this request. “I won’t,” she whispered.

Vanitha caught the shimmer of uncertainty… a question, maybe even a flicker of guilt… in Summer’s eyes. She squeezed Summer’s knee, offering both comfort and emphasis.

“Eventually, he’ll know. He’ll look at you, and he’ll see it in your face, or the way you look at him. He’s not a fool. But…” She leaned in, her voice dropping, intimate and almost maternal.

“I need you to let it unfold naturally between you two. Not because you’ve seen those pictures. Not because of me. Not because you think you owe me secrecy or loyalty. Because if it happens, it should be real. For you. For him. For both of you.”

Summer nodded, her gaze falling to where Vanitha’s hand still rested on her knee. She looked so young for a moment, the flush at her throat rising up to her cheeks.

“Let what unfold?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

Vanitha didn’t move her hand away. If anything, she pressed her palm more firmly, anchoring Summer to the present, to possibility.

“You and him, dear,” Vanitha said, simply. There was neither jealousy nor apology in her tone, only a calm certainty, a generous stillness.

Summer swallowed… Vanitha could see the pink at the hollow of her throat flutter with it.

“Me and him,” she repeated, the words small in the space between them, as if naming a secret she had barely dared to imagine aloud.

“Yes, dear.” Vanitha’s voice was softer now, but no less assured. “You and him. I am saying it because I want it clear. I am not in your way.”

Summer’s lips parted, searching for words

“Vanitha…” She looked up, her eyes bright and wet and filled with questions.

Vanitha managed a small, wry smile. “I'm saying the thing, dear. I am saying it once so I do not have to say it again. I am not giving you permission, because you don’t need my permission… no woman does. I am telling you… what happens from here is yours to decide, and his. Don’t chase it because of me, or because of what you saw, or because you think it’s what should happen. Let it be real, Summer. Let it be true for you. That’s all I want. That’s all I ask.”

The air between them felt charged… not with rivalry, but with understanding, a kind of sacred trust.

Summer’s gaze dropped once more to Vanitha’s hand, then came back up, her expression a little steadier now, a little more certain.

“You want me to,” Summer said, finally voicing the undercurrent, the possibility.

“I want you to do what you are going to do, dear,” Vanitha replied, her tone full of gentle assurance. 

“And I want you to know… I am not in the way. Not now, not ever. But let it happen organically.”

For a long moment, neither woman moved. It was enough… they both knew it. In that shared silence, there was not only permission, but respect. And perhaps, for both of them, a new kind of freedom and special kind of sisterly friendship.

{Any fans of Summer would like to see her breast pictures?}