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

[adams_masala]

[xavierrxx]

The pics looks good. The thali looks like north indian one than south indian? a forehead sindhur and may be a nose ring would make it more sexy.

[Rajani Rajendran]

Add some gifs of selvam Vanitha and summer

[adams_masala]

[opheliyaa]

Selvam should humiliate Ashok by making Vanitha kiss him after taking his dick in her mouth. Also make her feed her well fucked pussy to Ashok. Selvam can be proud of. Bring more humiliation

[adams_masala]

Anyone need more chapters?

[adams_masala]

Chapter 80: Yazhini has Won!

Vanitha leaned against the kitchen island, the morning light streaming through the tall windows and catching in Selvam’s salt-and-pepper hair as he hunched over his laptop. The house felt different when it was just the two of them... quieter somehow, the air between them charged with possibilities. She watched his fingers tap across the keyboard, strong and sure, remembering how they’d felt on her body just last night when Ashok and Latha where at Ashok’s office all day. Her pussy was still tingling from six orgasms she had, making her smile into her coffee mug as she took another sip.

“You’re staring again,” Selvam said without looking up, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.

“I can’t help it.” Vanitha set her mug down and moved behind him, sliding her hands across his shoulders. “You‘re very stareable when you’re being all tech genius.”

He leaned back into her touch, his body warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. “The app’s doing even better than we projected. Look at these engagement numbers.” He angled the screen toward her, displaying a graph with a steep upward curve.

Vanitha rested her chin on his shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of him. She let her eyes scan the numbers, but her mind was elsewhere... on the press of his back against her breasts, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. “That’s amazing,” she murmured, not really caring about the analytics.

Selvam turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing against hers. “You’re not looking at the screen at all, are you?”

She laughed, the sound bright in the quiet kitchen. “Caught me. I was thinking about something else.”

“Something better than record-breaking user growth?” His voice had that deep, rumbling quality that made her stomach flip.

“Much better.” She pressed her lips to the sensitive spot just below his ear, feeling him shiver under her touch.

His hand came up to capture hers, his fingers intertwining with hers. “We have work to do, ma.”

“We do,” she agreed, but didn’t move away. Instead, she trailed her free hand down his chest, stopping just above his belt. “But the house is empty. Ashok and Latha won’t be back until dinner.”

Selvam turned in his chair, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You’re a terrible influence,” he said, but the heat in his gaze belied his words.

“I’m the best influence.” She stepped between his legs, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. “You were so serious before you met me.”

“And now I’m corrupt,” he replied, but his hands settled on her waist, warm and possessive.

“Thoroughly.” She leaned down to kiss him, her lips brushing his in a teasing touch. “I think you like it.”

“I do.” He pulled her closer, his mouth finding hers with practiced ease. His kiss was slow, deliberate, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. The familiar taste of him... coffee and something uniquely his... filled her senses, making her head spin.

Vanitha’s phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the moment. She pulled back reluctantly, feeling Selvam’s sigh against her lips.

“Saved by the bell,” he murmured, his hands still resting on her hips.

She stepped back, grabbing her phone from the counter. “It’s Yazhini,” she said, surprised. “On FaceTime.”

Selvam straightened in his chair. “Go ahead, answer it. She’s never called you before.”

Vanitha swiped to accept the call, Yazhini’s face filling the screen. The girl was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Akka!” she exclaimed, using the Tamil honorific for an older sister. “I won! I actually won!"

Vanitha held the phone at arm’s length, turning it slightly so Selvam could see. “Won what, Yazhini? You‘re not making any sense.”

“The All-India-level Bharatanatyam competition! I’m going to the finals!” Her voice rose with each word until she was nearly shouting. “In Livermore, California! Can you believe it?”

Something in Vanitha’s chest tightened at the name. Livermore was less than an hour’s drive from Los Gatos. “That’s amazing, Yazhini! I’m so proud of you!”

Yazhini’s face suddenly froze, her expression shifting almost imperceptibly. Vanitha followed her gaze and realized that the girl had just noticed Selvam sitting beside her. There was a moment... just a half-second... when something flashed in Yazhini’s eyes. Recognition, perhaps, or memory. Her smile faltered briefly before she recovered, but Vanitha caught it, the slight widening of her eyes, the momentary pause in her breathing.

“Selvam uncle!” Yazhini’s voice was bright, but there was a new undercurrent to it now. “I didn’t know you were there!”

Selvam leaned toward the screen, his face breaking into a warm smile. “Congratulations, Yazhini! That’s wonderful news. Your guru must be very proud.”

“She is! She says I have a real chance at the national title.” Yazhini’s eyes darted between them, lingering on Vanitha for a beat too long before returning to Selvam. “The finals are in two weeks. In California.”

“That’s quite an achievement,” Selvam said, his voice carrying the same fatherly pride he’d always shown her. “What‘s the competition format? Individual performances, or group?”

Vanitha watched the exchange with careful attention, noting how Yazhini answered Selvam’s questions directly but kept cutting glances back at her. There was something in those looks... a new awareness, a secret knowledge. It made Vanitha’s skin warm, remembering that night at the festival back in Chennai, how they’d been caught, and later, how they’d all crossed a line together.

“Individual performances, followed by a showcase with all the finalists,” Yazhini explained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. “They’re providing accommodations for the contestants, but...” She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I’ve never traveled alone before. Appa says I should go, but Amma is worried.”

“Of course you should go,” Vanitha said firmly. “This is a huge opportunity.”

“But what if I get lost? Or miss my connecting flight? Or... “

“You’ll be fine,” Selvam interrupted, his tone confident. “You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for, Yazhini. Your training speaks for itself.”

Yazhini’s cheeks flushed at his praise. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he replied. “And if you’re worried, we could meet you at the airport. Livermore isn’t far from here.”

“We?” Yazhini’s eyes cut to Vanitha again, a question in them.

Vanitha felt Selvam’s hand settle on her knee under the counter, out of sight of the camera. “We’d be happy to help,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “Whatever you need.”

“That would be...” Yazhini paused, her expression softening. “That would be really nice, actually.”

They discussed logistics for a few minutes... flight times, competition dates, accommodation details. Vanitha offered to help with transportation and to show Yazhini around California if she had time. The conversation flowed easily, but underneath it, Vanitha sensed a current of tension, a new awareness in Yazhini’s manner.

“Oh, by the way,” Yazhini said casually, adjusting her position on what looked like her bedroom bed. “I broke up with Shanker.”

Vanitha raised an eyebrow. “The boy from your college? I thought you really liked him.”

Yazhini shrugged, but there was something deliberate in the casualness of the gesture. “I did. But...” Her eyes flicked to Selvam, then back to Vanitha. “It just wasn’t right.”

“What happened?” Vanitha asked, though something in Yazhini‘s expression made her think she already knew.

Yazhini tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze dropping briefly. “He tried to... you know. Have sex. Last weekend, after the regional competition.”

Vanitha felt Selvam tense beside her. “And you weren’t ready?” she asked gently.

“It’s not that.” Yazhini’s voice had an edge to it now. “I pushed him away because...” She looked directly into the camera, her eyes clear and challenging. “Now that I know what good looks like, I couldn’t settle.”

The words hung in the air between them. Vanitha’s breath caught in her throat. Beside her, Selvam had gone completely still.

Yazhini’s expression didn‘t change, but there was a new confidence in her posture, a subtle lift to her chin. “Anyway, that’s why I called. To tell you about the competition. And to say...” She paused, her eyes meeting Vanitha’s through the screen. “Thank you. For everything.”

Vanitha understood exactly what Yazhini was thanking her for. Not just the offer of help with the competition, but for that night... for the sight of Selvam’s cock, thick and proud, for the shared heat of their mouths on him, for the raw, unspoken knowledge that had passed between them like a live current. She felt a surge of something complex... pride mixed with satisfaction and a touch of possessiveness... as she looked at this young woman, now bold and hungry, who had tasted what it meant to want and be wanted. Yazhini had been changed by the press of Selvam’s cock on her tongue, by the power of her own daring. And Vanitha knew she had been a part of that awakening.

“You’re welcome,” Vanitha said simply, knowing Yazhini would understand the layers in those two words.

“We should let you go,” Selvam added, his voice steady despite the tension Vanitha could feel radiating from him. “But we’re very proud of you, Yazhini. For the competition, and for knowing your own worth.”

Yazhini’s smile was genuine now, relieved somehow. “Thank you, Selvam uncle. That means a lot.”

They said their goodbyes, promising to talk again soon about the competition details. When the call ended, Vanitha set her phone down on the counter and turned to Selvam.

“Well,” she said, her voice soft in the quiet kitchen. “That was...”

“Unexpected,” he finished for her, his hand finding hers again. “But not entirely surprising.”

Vanitha studied his face, looking for regret or concern, but found only a quiet acceptance. “She’s different,” she observed. “More confident.”

“She is.” Selvam’s thumb traced circles on her palm. “What happened that night... it changed her.”

“It changed all of us,” Vanitha replied, thinking of the shifts in her own relationship with Selvam, the new understanding between them. “But for her, I think it was exactly what she needed. To see that there are possibilities beyond what her parents have planned for her.”

Selvam nodded, his expression thoughtful. “She’s going to do well in California. With or without our help.”

“But we’ll be there for her,” Vanitha said. It wasn‘t a question.

“We will.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Just like you were there for her that night. Showing her what was possible.”

Vanitha smiled, remembering the shocked delight on Yazhini’s face as she’d knelt beside her, both of them with their lips around Selvam’s cock. How the girl had hesitated at first, then thrown herself into the experience with an enthusiasm that had surprised them all. How she’d looked up at them afterward, her eyes wide with wonder and newfound knowledge.

“She’s going to go far,” Vanitha said, her voice filled with a fierce pride. “With that confidence? The world is hers.”

Selvam’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch gentle. “Just like someone else I know.”

The kiss he gave her then was slow and sweet, a promise of what was to come now that they had the house to themselves. As Vanitha melted into his embrace, she thought of Yazhini... of how the girl had found her voice, her desire, her power... and felt a surge of gratitude for the strange, twisted path that had brought them all to this moment.

[fuckandforget]

Yazhini would have seen shankar cock and it must have been a tiny compared to eelvams monster. It is the reason she broke up. She now knows that no other cock other than selvam would fill her properly.

[adams_masala]

Yazhini would have seen shankar cock and it must have been a tiny compared to eelvams monster. It is the reason she broke up. She now knows that no other cock other than selvam would fill her properly.

Great analysis!

[Rangushki]

Did Ashok not feel any difference when he fuck Vanitha pussy. It must be loose now and his dick will be like a cycle parked in car parking.. haha
Vanitha will also laugh in her mind and wait for him to release in 2 minutes..
He must have born another half man or adopted from orphanage.

[adams_masala]

Did Ashok not feel any difference when he fuck Vanitha pussy. It must be loose now and his dick will be like a cycle parked in car parking.. haha
Vanitha will also laugh in her mind and wait for him to release in 2 minutes..
He must have born another half man or adopted from orphanage.

When he tried to fuck her his mother's thali mangalstura is blocking him. Ashok has a good cock as well, as it's evident from him fucking Latha. Vanitha's pussy is still tight. Ashok has the same dick as his dad may be a little smaller.

[masti.bhai]

Wow, what a surprising re-entry of Yazhini. New Bharatanatyam will start with a mandatory visit to the salon for a Brazilian :D
Followed by a rearrangement of her netherworld.

[Pushpa Purusan]

Wow, what a surprising re-entry of Yazhini. New Bharatanatyam will start with a mandatory visit to the salon for a Brazilian :D
Followed by a rearrangement of her netherworld.

She will dance bharatanatyam nude in front of her sex mentors Vanitha and selvam 

[Pushpa Purusan]

When he tried to fuck her his mother's thali mangalstura is blocking him. Ashok has a good cock as well, as it's evident from him fucking Latha. Vanitha's pussy is still tight. Ashok has the same dick as his dad may be a little smaller.

Latha did not sleep with selvam yet. Once she does, the truth will be out. Wife Vanitha is not loyal to Ashok. What is the need for latha to be loyal. After all she is just for money.

[adams_masala]

Latha did not sleep with selvam yet. Once she does, the truth will be out. Wife Vanitha is not loyal to Ashok. What is the need for latha to be loyal. After all she is just for money.

Yes Latha doesn't know yet.

[adams_masala]

Chapter 83: Mommy Milky, Tara Mohan

Tara’s one-year-old baby pulled his mouth from her left nipple with a loud, wet pop, sending a fine mist of milk spraying across his chubby cheek and her wrist. The sudden release of pressure made her gasp, her eyes fluttering closed as the warm milk continued to gush from her dark, swollen nipple in a forceful arc that splattered across Aryan’s chin and the front of her half-unbuttoned silk blouse.


Tara Mohan and Mohan Kumar live two homes away from Ashok’s home in their $5M Italian style Mansion in Los Gatos. They had a baby year ago and she determined to only breastfeed her baby Aryan.

A long, glistening strand of milk stretched between his lips and her nipple for a half-second before snapping. Tara bit her lower lip, watching as the milk ran in rivulets down the underside of her exposed breast. The second stream was even thicker, soaking the silk of her blouse until it clung transparently to her skin, the dark areola visible through the wet fabric like tissue paper pressed to skin.

“Mmm, Aryan,” she whispered, her voice carrying the same breathy, intimate tone she used for her Instagram stories. “That’s my hungry boy.”

The morning light poured through the tall arched windows of the nursery, turning the pale Italian marble floors to liquid gold. Tara sat in the deep nursing chair, her right breast fully exposed, the left barely covered by the damp silk hanging from her shoulder. The quiet room filled with the soft wet sounds of Aryan’s sucking, his tiny fingers kneading her swollen flesh, his cheeks hollowing with each greedy pull.

Every strong tug at her nipple sent a sharp sensation straight through Tara’s core, a sweet ache that made her breath catch. She shifted her hold on the baby, letting more of her breast spill free for a deeper latch. Both breasts jiggled heavily with the movement, the weight of them still surprising her even after a year of nursing. A thick spurt of milk sprayed out in a fine mist, catching Aryan’s cheek and Tara’s own wrist.

She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, she watched as the warm milk continued to leak in slow heavy drips down her skin. Her left breast, now also fully exposed, glistened with its own bead crowning the tip. She cupped the leaking breast with one hand, her thumb brushing the nipple and coaxing out another thick spurt that ran down her fingers. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver through her body, her pussy clenching slightly in response.

“Look at all this milk for you, baby,” she murmured, her expression settling into something slow and satisfied. “Mommy’s breasts are so full for you.”

Aryan’s eyes drifted closed as he nursed, his tiny hand resting on the curve of her breast, fingers splayed possessively across her golden skin. Tara smiled down at him, genuine affection warming her chest for his little son. For all her calculation and ambition, there was something pure about these moments... just her and her baby, connected in the most basic, primal way.

But even as she cradled Aryan’s head, her eyes kept drifting to the low-hip saree dbangd over the chair arm beside her, the one she was about to change into. She’d spent forty-five minutes selecting it that morning, trying on six different options before settling on the emerald green. The color made her skin glow, brought out the gold in her complexion, and... most importantly... would show the wet patches through the fabric when her milk inevitably leaked again.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pictured the comments that would flood in, the thirsty men praising her “sexy mommy body,” the jealous women taking screenshots to show their husbands. The brand deals would follow... the nursing bras, the breast pumps, the herbal supplements promising to keep her milk supply strong. Her follower count would spike again, just as it had when she’d posted that reel of Aryan’s first birthday, her saree deliberately dbangd to show the full curve of her ass as she bent to cut the cake.

Tara shifted Aryan to her other breast, the movement making both tits bounce heavily. At thirty-four, her breasts sat high and full despite the year of nursing, easily a 34D. The dark, thick nipples stayed perpetually erect now, so sensitive that the cool air from the ceiling fan alone made them ache and bead. Her waist had snapped back to its pre-pregnancy size within weeks of delivery, but her hips had widened, giving her the kind of hourglass figure that made men stop and stare at the temple, at the market, everywhere.

She knew her body with the same precision she knew her follower count... knew exactly how the pallu of her saree would slip to reveal a hint of cleavage, knew the exact angle that would make her ass look roundest in photos, knew that a certain twist of her torso would make her waist look even tinier by comparison. It was a knowledge built through years of practice, of trial and error, of watching which posts got the most engagement and replicating their success.

And it was working. Her follower count had doubled in the six months since Aryan‘s birth, the “hot mom” niche proving unexpectedly lucrative. The women in the neighborhood whispered about her, of course... called her attention-seeking, inappropriate, desperate. But they also watched her every move, studied her posts for tips on how she’d kept her figure, how she’d managed to turn motherhood into an asset rather than a liability.

Tara was not Vanitha, with her quiet earned authority and her beauty queen composure. Where Vanitha was elegant, Tara was raw. Where Vanitha was composed, Tara was hungry. Where Vanitha had built her following through carefully curated glimpses of a perfect life, Tara had built hers through calculated revelations... a nipple here, a flash of ass there, just enough to keep them coming back for more.

It had started as an accident, that first viral post. A selfie taken in the hospital room just hours after Aryan’s birth, her hair wild, her face flushed, her eyes bright with a fierce joy. She’d meant to send it just to family, but her finger had slipped, posting it to her main account instead of the private one. By morning, it had a hundred thousand likes and three thousand comments, most from men praising her “glow,” her “sexy new mom energy,” her “fuckable tits.”

Something had clicked into place then... a realization that motherhood hadn’t diminished her power but transformed it. She was no longer just beautiful; she was fertile, nurturing, life-giving. The combination was intoxicating to men, threatening to women, and Tara had leaned into it with ruthless precision.

Now, a year later, she had 100k followers, not big, but something for her to do, and a reputation as the hottest mom in Los Gatos. And she was just getting started.

Aryan’s sucking had slowed, his little body growing heavy against her chest as sleep claimed him. Tara shifted him carefully, supporting his head as she laid him in the crib beside her chair. She watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of sleep, a drop of milk still glistening at the corner of his mouth.

Then she stood, letting her silk blouse fall completely open, not bothering to button it. The cool air from the fan raised goosebumps across her exposed skin, her nipples hardening further in response. She glanced at the saree again, already planning the reel she would film after her shower... the careful reveal of her still-damp breasts, the way the fabric would cling to the curves, the subtle bounce as she moved.

Vanitha might have the beauty queen title and the richer husband, but Tara had something better... a body that drew stares everywhere she went, a following that grew by the day, and the absolute certainty that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Scene 2

After nursing little Aryan and laying him down for a nap, Tara stepped into the steamy bathroom, the mirror already fogging from the hot water she’d run. The room smelled of jasmine and sandalwood, her favorite scent combination that always made her feel both relaxed and sexy. She closed the door quietly behind her, locking it with a soft click... a habit from before motherhood that she still maintained, these precious minutes alone too valuable to risk interruption.

The marble tiles felt cool beneath her bare feet despite the steam filling the room. Tara had splurged on the bathroom renovation last year... imported Italian marble, gold fixtures, a rainfall shower large enough for two. Mohan had complained about the cost, but she’d insisted. “This is my sanctuary,” she’d told him, running her hand along the smooth edge of the soaking tub. “And sanctuaries are worth the investment.”

Now, surrounded by the gentle patter of water against marble, she was glad she‘d stood her ground. The bathroom was her favorite room in the house... the only place where she could truly be alone with her thoughts, her body, her desires.

She reached for the thin silk robe hanging on the back of the door, untying the belt with one fluid motion. The fabric whispered against her skin as it slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a puddle of pale blue. The cool air raised goosebumps across her exposed skin, her nipples hardening instantly in response. She stepped out of the robe, leaving it where it lay, and moved to the sink.

The mirror was completely fogged now, her reflection just a blurry outline in the glass. Tara preferred it this way... no critical eye judging the slight stretch marks on her hips, the darker line that still traced a path from her navel to the top of her pubic bone. Her body had changed with Aryan’s birth, yes, but in ways that made her feel powerful rather than diminished. The fullness of her breasts, the slight softness of her belly, the wider curve of her hips... all evidence of what her body had created, what it could do.

She turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature until the water ran hot but not scalding. Cupping her hands beneath the stream, she let the liquid fill her palms before bringing it to her face. The heat felt wonderful against her skin, washing away the slight stickiness left from Aryan’s feeding. She splashed her face three times, feeling her pores open, her skin drink in the moisture.

But it was her breasts that needed the most attention. Still tender from nursing, the skin stretched taut across the swollen flesh, the dark areolas slightly chapped from Aryan’s hungry mouth. Tara cupped them gently in both hands, testing their weight, the way they spilled over her fingers despite her attempts to contain them. They felt heavier than they had before pregnancy, denser, more alive somehow... sensitive in a way that made even the brush of fabric against them a constant, low-grade pleasure.

She leaned into the sink, angling her body so the warm stream cascaded directly over her cleavage. The water traced rivulets down the valley between her breasts, following the curves of her body with liquid precision. Tara closed her eyes, savoring the sensation... the heat against her skin, the weight of her breasts in her hands, the slight ache that came with every touch.

Reaching for the soap dish, she selected the bar she’d made herself... coconut oil base, jasmine essential oil, a hint of vanilla for warmth. The scent rose around her as she worked the soap between her palms, creating a rich lather that smelled like the most expensive perfume. With slow, deliberate circles, she began to wash her breasts, starting at the outer curves and working inward.

Her thumbs brushed over her darkened areolas, the sensitive flesh pebbling instantly under her touch. A small sound escaped her... not quite a moan, but close... as the soap created a slick barrier between her fingers and her skin. The sensation was exquisite... friction without roughness, pressure without pain. She took her time, working the lather into every curve, every hollow, every inch of skin that had been touched and tasted and changed by motherhood.

When she reached the undersides of her breasts, where the skin was warm and slightly damp from their own heat, she lifted each one in turn, supporting the heavy weight with one hand while she washed thoroughly with the other. The soap created a slick film that made her skin gleam under the bathroom lights, turning her golden complexion to polished bronze.

She rinsed carefully, making sure every trace of soap was gone before moving on. The water ran in milky streams down her stomach, between her legs, along the insides of her thighs. Tara watched its path with half-lidded eyes, following the droplets with her fingertips, tracing their journey across her skin.

Her hands moved lower, washing her belly with the same care she’d shown her breasts. The slight softness there was new... a pouch of flesh that hadn’t existed before pregnancy, that no amount of exercise had been able to completely eliminate. Once, she might have hated it, might have covered it with high-waisted jeans and empire-cut tops. Now, she ran her palms over it with something like pride, feeling the way it yielded beneath her touch, the way it had stretched to make room for Aryan’s growing body.

“Beautiful,” she whispered to her reflection in the now-clearing mirror. The word echoed in the tiled room, bouncing back to her with unexpected force. She said it again, louder this time. “Beautiful.”

And she was. Her skin glowed with a healthy radiance that no filter could replicate. Her hair fell in glossy waves to the middle of her back, thick and strong despite the postpartum shedding that had terrified her three months after Aryan’s birth. Her eyes were bright, her lips full, her collarbones sharp beneath the smooth skin of her throat. Every inch of her proclaimed life, vitality, desire.

She turned off the tap and reached for a plush towel, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly clothing budget. The Egyptian cotton absorbed the water from her skin with gentle efficiency, leaving her dry but not stripped, soft but not slick. She patted her breasts carefully, mindful of their tenderness, then worked her way down her body... belly, hips, thighs, the curve of her ass that had somehow gotten rounder, firmer after pregnancy.

By the time she finished, the bathroom had begun to cool, the steam dissipating into the air. Tara wrapped the towel around her hair, twisting it into a loose turban that left tendrils curling at her temples and the nape of her neck. Her skin felt alive, hyperaware, every brush of air against it sending tiny shivers along her nerves.

She glanced at the clock on the wall... 11:17. Mohan wouldn’t be home for lunch until one, and the nanny had taken Aryan for his morning walk. That gave her just over an hour and a half to get dressed, set up the lighting, film the reel, edit it, and post it to Instagram with the perfect caption.

More than enough time to remind her followers exactly why they’d hit that follow button in the first place.

Scene 3

Drying off with a plush towel, Tara moved to the bedroom, her skin still tingling from the warm water. The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on the gold accents of her vanity and the crystal perfume bottles arranged in a perfect line. Her iPhone sat on the charging stand, the ring light attachment already clipped to the top... she’d set everything up before Aryan’s morning feed, knowing she’d want to move quickly once she had the time.

The room was exactly as she’d left it... bed neatly made with the emerald silk duvet she’d special-ordered from Jaipur, the matching throw pillows arranged in a perfect gradient from dark to light. The full-length mirror beside the closet reflected the space back at her, capturing the cream walls, the gold-framed artwork, the delicate crystal chandelier that Mohan had installed as a surprise for their third anniversary. It was the bedroom of a woman who had made it... who had climbed from a two-room apartment in a working-class neighborhood to this sprawling penthouse with its views of the Bay of Bengal.

Tara dropped the towel onto the bed and crossed to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer with a practiced motion. Inside, arranged by color and fabric type, lay her collection of lingerie... dozens of bras and panties in every style imaginable. She bypassed the everyday cotton and the special occasion silk, going straight for the black lace thong nestled between a red balconette and a nude push-up.

The fabric felt cool against her fingertips as she lifted it from the drawer. Tara stepped into it with careful precision, sliding the delicate lace up her smooth golden legs. The thin straps settled snugly against her hips, framing her firm round ass with deliberate obscenity. She adjusted the placement with a critical eye, making sure the triangle of lace sat perfectly centered over her waxed pussy, the thin string disappearing between her cheeks to emphasize the curve of her backside.

Next came the matching push-up bra. Unlike the thong, which had been selected purely for its aesthetic appeal, the bra served a functional purpose as well. Tara hooked it in front, then twisted it around and slid her arms through the straps. The underwire lifted her still-sensitive, milk-heavy breasts into perfect, cleavage-deep mounds, the lace cups barely containing her dark nipples. She adjusted the straps with practiced movements, tightening them just enough to create the dramatic uplift her followers had come to expect.

Even as she fastened the back clasp, she could feel fresh beads of milk darkening the sheer fabric. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver through her body... her breasts had always been sensitive, but since Aryan’s birth, the slightest touch, the merest hint of arousal, was enough to make them leak. It was inconvenient in daily life but perfect for her brand... nothing drove engagement like the suggestion of her body’s natural functions, of the life-giving power contained in her curves.

Tara moved to the closet next, selecting a sheer black petticoat from the organized row hanging along the back wall. Unlike traditional petticoats, which were meant to be hidden beneath sarees, this one was designed to be seen... the hem embroidered with delicate gold thread, the waistband thin enough to sit well below her navel. She stepped into it, tying it deliberately low on her hips so the fabric hugged the curve of her ass without hiding the line of the thong beneath.

The emerald green choli came next... a tight, structured blouse with a neckline that plunged almost to her navel. Tara slipped it over her head, working her arms into the sleeves with careful movements to avoid disturbing her hair.

The fabric stretched across her back, the buttons along the spine requiring her to contort slightly to fasten them all. When she finally managed it, the effect was exactly what she’d hoped for... the deep neckline framed her breasts perfectly, the tight fit emphasizing the dramatic difference between her waist and her hips.

As she’d expected, the pressure of the structured fabric against her sensitive nipples was enough to make fresh milk bead at the tips. Tara watched in the mirror as two dark circles spread across the emerald silk, the contrast between the vibrant fabric and the clear fluid creating a visual that would stop any man’s scroll. She smiled, satisfied with the effect... no filter needed, no artificial enhancement necessary. Her body did the work for her.

The saree was the final piece... six yards of sheer emerald chiffon that seemed to float rather than fall as she lifted it from its hanger. Tara spread it across the bed, checking for wrinkles or snags with a critical eye. Finding none, she began the careful process of dbanging it around her body.

Unlike the traditional method her mother had taught her... pleats at the front, pallu over the left shoulder... Tara dbangd her sarees with deliberate obscenity. 

he pleated the fabric at the back instead, tucking it into the petticoat so the waist sat almost indecently beneath her hip bones. The length that would normally fall to her ankles instead stopped mid-thigh, the transparent material doing nothing to hide the outline of the thong beneath.

The pallu... the loose end of the saree... she arranged with equal carelessness, letting it fall loosely over one shoulder rather than securing it with pins.

The effect was one of deliberate dishevelment, of a woman too beautiful to bother with propriety, too confident to worry about exposure. The transparent fabric threatened to slip with every movement, revealing glimpses of the damp patches on her choli, the swell of her breasts beneath.

From her jewelry box, Tara selected a delicate gold waist chain, slipping it around her hips so it rested just above the line of the petticoat. The tiny bells attached to the links jingled softly as she moved, drawing the eye to the flat plane of her stomach, the dramatic flare of her hips. She added delicate gold hoop earrings that caught the light with each turn of her head, a thin layered necklace that dipped between her breasts to emphasize their fullness.

The finishing touch was her perfume... a custom blend of jasmine and vanilla that cost more per ounce than most people’s monthly rent. Tara spritzed it on her wrists, her throat, and... with a mischievous smile... deep into the valley of her cleavage. The scent rose around her, heady and intoxicating, the perfect complement to the visual feast she’d created.

She slipped on strappy black heels last, buckling each ankle strap carefully to ensure they wouldn’t come loose during filming. The added height elongated her legs, made her ass look even rounder, her waist even smaller by comparison. Tara took a practice turn in front of the mirror, watching the way the saree floated around her body, the way the light caught on the gold of her jewelry, the wet patches on her choli.

The woman who stared back at her was barely recognizable as the girl who had grown up in that two-room apartment... all traces of insecurity burned away by ambition and careful cultivation. Her skin glowed with the particular radiance that came only from expensive facials and genetic good fortune.

Her hair fell in glossy waves to the middle of her back, thick and strong despite the postpartum shedding that had terrified her months earlier. Her eyes were lined with kohl that made them look twice their natural size, her lips stained with a deep red that matched the undertones in her cheeks.

But it was her body that had undergone the most dramatic transformation... not from pregnancy, but from the realization of its power. The full, heavy breasts that had once made her hunch her shoulders now led every movement, the tiny waist that had been hidden beneath loose t-shirts now displayed with proud precision, the round ass that had been the subject of playground taunts now the focus of a hundred thousand hungry gazes.

She was beautiful in the way that made other women uncomfortable... too aware of it, too willing to use it, too deliberate in its deployment. Not like Vanitha, with her quiet elegance and her careful modesty. No, Tara‘s beauty was a weapon, honed and aimed with lethal precision.

She picked up her phone, angling it to capture her reflection in the mirror. The image that filled the screen was exactly what she’d hoped for... all golden skin and emerald fabric, suggestive without being explicit, professional despite the obvious sexuality. Her followers would eat it up... the men fantasizing about being the one to unwrap her, the women studying her technique, her confidence, the way she’d turned motherhood into an asset rather than a limitation.

Tara smiled at her reflection, already composing the caption in her head. Something about new beginnings. Or maybe just a simple “Good morning” with a winking emoji. Her followers would fill in the blanks themselves, their comments becoming part of the performance... thirsty, admiring, occasionally envious, but always, always engaged.

She pressed record, watching as the red dot began to pulse in the corner of the screen. The woman in the mirror smiled back at her, confident and calculating, already counting the likes, the comments, the shares. Another day, another performance, another step toward the life she’d decided was hers by right.

Tara turned slowly, letting the camera capture the full effect of the saree from every angle. The light caught the gold of her waist chain, the transparency of the chiffon, the deliberate swell of her breasts beneath the damp fabric. She was exactly where she was meant to be... center stage, all eyes on her, her body the instrument of her ambition.

And she was just getting started.

[adams_masala]

Chapter 84: This house is not for sale!

The Italian-style villa glowed in the afternoon sun. Terracotta roof tiles, soaring arched windows framed by pink bougainvillea, manicured olive groves, and a sparkling infinity pool that seemed to spill straight into the Silicon Valley hills. Inside, marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers and exposed dark beams.


Selvam, Ashok, and Vanitha walked up the stone path.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Ashok asked, checking his watch. “I’ve got an investor call at four.”

“Property investment,” Selvam said calmly. “Real estate beats the tech market right now.”

Ashok raised an eyebrow. “Tara and Mohan just had a baby. You really think they’ll sell?”

“We’re just making conversation,” Selvam replied.

Vanitha kept her eyes on the villa. “It’s beautiful. I’ve admired it for years.”

They reached the top step. Selvam rang the bell.

The carved wooden door swung open. Tara stood there in a sheer emerald chiffon saree dbangd dangerously low on her hips. A thin gold waist chain sparkled against her bare midriff. The deep-cleavage choli clung to her heavy breasts; two dark wet patches marked where milk had leaked, the fabric translucent over her erect nipples.

“Come in, come in,” Tara said, flashing a wide smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So good to see you.”

Mohan appeared behind her, rumpled linen shirt, genuine but tired smile. “Vanitha, Ashok... great to see you. And you must be Selvam. Welcome.”

They stepped into the marble entryway. The crystal chandelier scattered rainbows across the floor.

“It’s even more stunning inside,” Vanitha said.

Tara’s gaze swept over Vanitha... taking in her simple salwar, her younger face, her tighter figure. A flicker of jealousy sharpened her smile.

“You look lovely as always, Vanitha,” Tara said sweetly. “That color really suits you.”

“Thank you,” Vanitha replied, keeping her tone light. “Emerald’s always been your color.”

Mohan gestured inside. “Come through. Drink?”

“I’m good,” Ashok said. “Dad’s got a thing for Italian architecture. Mind if we take a quick tour?”

“No trouble at all,” Tara said. Her hips swayed as she led them through the house, the sheer saree whispering against her thighs.

They moved from the sunlit kitchen with its Italian marble counters to the teak dining table, then the living room with its stone fireplace. Tara’s pallu slipped once, revealing more of her damp cleavage. She didn’t fix it right away.

“The master suite is upstairs,” Tara said at the foot of the curved staircase. “Four bedrooms, each with its own bath. The smallest is the nursery now.”

They climbed. Tara stayed close to Selvam, her arm brushing his as she pointed out details.

“The infinity pool was Mohan’s idea,” she said, resting her hand on Selvam’s forearm a moment too long. “He saw one in Bali and just had to have it.”

“It’s spectacular,” Selvam said, voice warm. He glanced at Vanitha across the room. Their eyes locked for a beat... heat, promise, shared secret.

Vanitha felt Tara watching them. The other woman’s smile stayed perfect, but her eyes narrowed.

They circled back to the entryway. Sunlight poured through the tall windows.

Selvam stopped in the center of the marble floor. “It’s exactly what I hoped for,” he said. “Craftsmanship, views, location. You’ve created something special.”

Mohan puffed up a little. “Thank you. It was Tara’s vision.”

Selvam didn’t hesitate. “I want to buy it. Cash. Whatever you’re asking. Right now.”

Mohan blinked. “I... what?”

“Cash,” Selvam repeated. “No financing. No contingencies. Name your price.”

Silence stretched for two heartbeats.

Tara’s jaw tightened, but her influencer smile never faltered. “That’s… very generous, Selvam. But this home isn’t for sale.”

Mohan shifted. “We hadn’t even considered... ”

“We just finished the renovations,” Tara cut in, voice sweet but edged with steel. “Aryan’s settled in the nursery. This is our home.”

Vanitha’s nails pressed into her palm. She kept her face calm.

“I understand,” Selvam said evenly. He held Tara’s gaze. “It was worth asking.”

Ashok jumped in. “The neighborhood has other options. The Rodriguez place on the hill... ”

“The Rodriguez place is lovely,” Tara agreed, but her eyes stayed on Vanitha. She took in the younger woman’s smooth skin, her smaller waist, her effortless beauty. The jealousy burned brighter. 

She wants to be me, Vanitha realized. Younger. Cuter. Hotter.

Tara’s smile sharpened. “Some things just aren’t meant to be, I suppose.”

“Or some people don’t try hard enough,” Vanitha answered lightly, meeting her stare. “The right soil, the right care... most things thrive if you want them badly enough.”

Tara’s eyes flashed. She clutched her pallu tighter, the wet spots on her choli darkening. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mohan cleared his throat. “Drinks? It’s after five. We could celebrate new neighbors, potential business... ”

“Dad’s not just looking at property,” Ashok interrupted, hand on Selvam’s shoulder. “He sold the app this morning. Two hundred million. Cash.”

Mohan’s eyebrows shot up. “Two hundred... ”

Tara’s gaze flicked to Selvam again, reassessing... wealth, power, the confident way he stood in her marble entryway. Her fingers brushed her own waist chain.

“Well,” she said slowly, “that certainly changes things.” She turned to Mohan. “Maybe we should talk about this properly later.”

“Of course,” Selvam replied, calm. “The offer stands. Take all the time you need.”

Ashok checked his watch. “We should head out. That investor call.”

They walked to the door together. At the threshold Selvam’s hand brushed the small of Vanitha’s back... light, warm, invisible to the others.

“Thank you for the tour,” Selvam said.

“Our pleasure,” Tara replied, eyes locked on his. “Really.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

They started down the stone path. The afternoon sun warmed their shoulders.

“Well,” Ashok said, “that was unexpected.”

Selvam’s fingers brushed Vanitha’s for half a second. “Not entirely. These things take time.”

Vanitha glanced back at the villa. Terracotta roof gleaming, olive trees casting long shadows. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

Selvam’s dark eyes met hers. “They are.”

Behind them the villa stood bathed in golden light, not theirs yet... but the day was young, and Selvam had never been a man who gave up on what he wanted.

[adams_masala]

Chapter 85: Summer's Idea

Scene 1

Vaintha's home. Selvam, Vanitha and Summer staring at the app’s admin console glowing blue-white against the marble counter.

Selvam leaned forward, scrolling through the dashboard with confident movements of his index finger. The numbers jumped with each flick... user engagement, daily active accounts, average session length... all climbing steadily since the last VC funding round.


“Look at these.” He pointed to a graph showing a vertical spike. “That’s the day after your last reel, Vanitha. Almost a million new downloads.”

“Not bad?” Selvam raised an eyebrow. “That’s record-breaking. The marketing team says they’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We have so many clients interested in the API licensing.”

“Do it,” Selvam said. “Personal connection beats a cold call every time.”

The business talk continued for another fifteen minutes... pricing models, integration timelines, potential conflicts with existing partners.

Selvam watched as Vanitha and Summer volleyed ideas back and forth, their professional chemistry as strong as their personal one. The two women had found something rare in each other... both creative and business-minded, both willing to push boundaries in all aspects of life.

“Speaking of personal connections,” Vanitha said, closing the laptop with a decisive click. “I’ve been trying to convince mama to buy that house, so he can live in California.”

Selvam shifted in his seat. “I did make an offer,” he said slowly. “On that Italian villa a few doors down.”

“The one with the infinity pool?” Summer’s eyebrows shot up. “That place is gorgeous.”

“Yes.” Selvam’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Cash offer, full asking price, no contingencies.”

“And?” Summer pressed.

“And Tara shut it down without a second’s hesitation.” The words came out flatter than he’d intended. “They’re not selling. Not now, not ever, apparently.”

Summer set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Tara is a bitch,” she said, no softening in her voice.

Vanitha’s mouth opened slightly, surprise crossing her face. “Summer!”

“What? She is.” Summer shrugged, unrepentant. “I know she is jealous of you, that’s the reason. She hates that you’re younger and hotter and married to a man with a real tech job instead of whatever her husband does.”

“I think Mohan‘s in finance,” Vanitha offered weakly.

“Whatever.” Summer rolled her eyes. “Point is, she’s jealous. Always has been. She’d do anything to hurt you.”

The room went quiet, the implications of Summer‘s words settling between them. Then, slowly, her expression changed... eyes going sharp, mouth curving into a slow smile.

Summer sat up straighter, turning to face Selvam directly.

“I have an idea,” she said. “She’s a jealous bitch. She would want something I have.” She held the look for a beat, letting the implication hang. “Selvam, you need to take one for the team if you want that house for Vanitha.”

Selvam stared at her, genuinely lost. “What?”

“I think I get it.” Vanitha was watching Summer’s face, reading something in her expression that Selvam couldn’t follow. Her own mouth curved, a mirror of Summer’s smile. “You want to use him as bait.”

“Exactly.” Summer reached for her phone, already tapping through her contacts. “Tara’s been thirst-posting about ‘hot dads’ since before her baby was born. And now she’s stuck in that mansion with a screaming infant and a husband who probably falls asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.”

Selvam looked between them, comprehension slowly dawning. “You want me to...”

“Not sleep with her, but that’s your call, Boss man!” Summer clarified. “Just let her think she could.” She slid off the stool, grabbing her bag from the counter. “Let her see what she‘s missing out on.”

“This sounds like a terrible plan,” Selvam said, but the women were already in motion... Summer heading for the door, Vanitha reaching for her phone.

“It’s a perfect plan,” Summer called over her shoulder. “Jealousy makes people stupid. And you, Selvam, are very not-stupid. Which is why you’re going to let me handle this.”

She paused at the doorway, phone in hand. “I’ve got a visit to make.”

The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Selvam and Vanitha alone in the suddenly quiet kitchen. Selvam turned to Vanitha, confusion still clear on his face.

“What exactly is she planning to do?”

Vanitha smiled, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. “Knowing Summer? Whatever works.”

Selvam shook his head, not quite able to share their confidence. “This is going to end badly.”

“It‘s going to end with us in that villa,” Vanitha replied, her voice certain. “Just wait and see.”

Scene 2

Summer pulled up to Tara Mohan’s villa in her white BMW, parking in the wide stone driveway. The Italian-style house gleamed in the afternoon sun, terracotta roof tiles catching the light. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror... lipstick perfect, blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The photo she planned to show Tara was already loaded on her phone. She grabbed her bag and headed for the front door.

The carved wooden door swung open before she could ring the bell. Tara stood there in a pale pink silk wrap robe, one breast already half-exposed, the golden skin of her chest flushed with warmth. her baby son Aryan balanced on her hip, his tiny hand reaching for her uncovered breast, face turned toward the nipple.

“Oh!” Tara‘s eyes widened with surprise. “Summer. Hi.”

“Sorry to drop by unannounced.” Summer smiled, keeping her eyes on Tara’s face despite the obvious glimpse of the other woman’s breast. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I needed your opinion on something.”

Tara adjusted her hold on Aryan, the movement making her robe slip further. “No, it’s fine. Come in.” She stepped back, pulling the door wider. “We were just finishing up a feed. Weren’t we, baby?”

Aryan made a small sound of protest, his head turning to follow the retreating nipple. Tara laughed, the sound light and practiced. “Always so hungry. Men.”

Summer followed her through the marble entryway, past the open kitchen with its Italian marble counters, up the curved staircase to the second floor. The nursery door stood open, pale afternoon light spilling through arched windows onto the Italian marble floor.

“Have a seat,” Tara gestured to a low ottoman across from the deep nursing chair. “Just let me get this little monster settled.”

She sank into the chair, Aryan already trying to suck her nipples. With practiced movements, she adjusted her robe, baring her right breast completely. The nipple was dark, thick, already beading milk even before Aryan latched on. Once his mouth closed around the areola, Tara’s expression shifted... a momentary flash of something between pleasure and pain crossing her features before settling into practiced serenity.

“There we go,” she murmured, stroking Aryan‘s downy head. “That’s my good boy.”

Summer settled on the ottoman, pulling out her phone. “So, the reason I came by.” She tapped the screen a few times, scrolling through her photos. “I shot this new lingerie collection last week, and I wanted your opinion before I post it.”

Tara leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested. “Of course. You know I love your work.”

Summer turned the phone toward her, showing the first image... a studio shot of Summer in a pale pink lace bra, the lighting soft and flattering. “The brand is trying to go more high-end. Less Victoria’s Secret, more Agent Provocateur.”

“Gorgeous,” Tara said, eyes moving over the image. “The color really makes your skin pop.”

Summer swiped to the next photo... a black set with delicate gold accents, shot against a white backdrop. “This one’s my favorite. The cut makes my ass look amazing.”

“It does,” Tara agreed, her free hand moving to her own leaking breast without seeming to notice. Her fingers brushed the underside, gathering a drop of milk that had escaped Aryan’s mouth. “The fit is perfect on you.”

They continued through the set... a red balconette, a white bodysuit with lace inserts, a teal bralette with matching high-waisted briefs. With each image, Tara leaned closer, her comments growing more specific, more appreciative. Her robe had fallen completely open now, both breasts exposed, the left one dripping a steady line of milk down the curve of her skin.

Then Summer’s thumb paused on the screen, and she let out a small, unconvincing “oh” of surprise.

On the phone: a close-up of Summer’s face, lips parted, jaw tilted up. Framing her on both sides was a thick, dark, heavily veined dark  cock... foreskin pulled back to expose a wide, glistening reddish-brown cock head. The shaft was so dark against Summer’s fair Nordic skin that the contrast was impossible to miss.

Tara’s eyes locked onto the image. Aryan kept nursing, oblivious to the sudden tension in his mother’s body. Tara’s free hand moved without her seeming to notice it, fingers brushing the underside of her leaking breast again, this time lingering on the sensitive skin.

“Sorry,” Summer said quickly, making to swipe past it. “That’s not supposed to be in there.”

“Wait.” Tara’s voice came out higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “That’s... is that from your personal collection?”

Summer bit her lower lip, playing reluctant. “Yeah. Private shoot.”

“For who?” Tara asked, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

“My boyfriend.” Summer shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “Just a fun thing we do sometimes.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “OMG, Summer, you didn’t tell me you have a black boyfriend. I need to see everything.”

Summer hesitated, then slowly scrolled to the next image... another close-up, this one showing the full length of the shaft pressed against Summer’s cheek, her tongue just visible at the base.

“Oh my god,” Tara whispered, her voice dropping half an octave. “He’s huge.”

Another swipe, another image... Summer on her knees, the cock in profile, her lips stretched around the head, her eyes looking directly at the camera.

“Fuck,” Tara breathed, the word barely audible. Aryan shifted at her breast, his sucking slowing as if he sensed the change in his mother‘s attention.

One more swipe, and the full picture was revealed... Summer on her back, legs spread, the same dark cock buried inside her, her face a study in ecstasy.

Tara’s breath caught. “Is that... “ she started, then stopped. “Is that an Indian cock? The foreskin?” she asked, her voice dropping another half register.

Summer paused, as if considering whether to answer. “Yeah,” she said finally. “He’s Indian.”

Tara’s free hand had stilled on her breast, her fingers now pressing into the soft flesh as if holding herself in place. “Do I know him?” she asked, the question clearly costing her something.

Summer looked down at her phone, then back up at Tara. “Maybe.”

“Tell me,” Tara pressed, shifting Aryan to her other breast with practiced movements. The first nipple, now free, was fully exposed, a thin jet of milk dripping down her wrist as her body responded to her arousal. “Please, Summer. I need to know.”

Summer exhaled slowly, like she was giving something up. “It’s my boss,” she said. “My new boss. Selvam.”

The name landed between them with the force of a physical blow. Tara’s jaw went slack, her eyes widening. She knew exactly who Selvam was... knew he was Vanitha’s father-in-law, knew he was a forty-eight-year-old man with a body that defied his age. And now she knew he had been buried inside a twenty-four-year-old white lingerie model.

Her nipple stiffened visibly, the areola puckering as her body reacted before her face did. A thick spurt of milk sprayed out, catching Aryan’s cheek as he continued to nurse, oblivious to the shock rippling through his mother’s body.

“Selvam?” Tara repeated, her voice barely audible. “Vanitha’s Selvam?”

Summer nodded, tucking her phone back into her bag with deliberate casualness. “Yeah. It’s new. Just a few weeks.” She shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have told you. It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s...” Tara’s eyes had gone unfocused, fixed on the middle distance. Her tongue pressed against her lower lip, the image of that dark cock burning behind her eyes. “It’s fine. I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks.” Summer stood, smoothing her dress down over her hips. “I should go. Let you finish with Aryan.”

Tara nodded mechanically, not really hearing her. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”

Summer paused at the doorway, looking back at the other woman. Tara still sat in the nursing chair, Aryan feeding contentedly at her breast, her eyes fixed on nothing, her expression dazed. The wet patch on her robe had spread, her nipple still visibly hard despite the cool air of the nursery.

“See you around, Tara,” Summer said softly. “Thanks for the feedback.”

But Tara was already gone, lost in the image that now lived behind her eyes... the thick, dark shaft, the plum-colored head, the absolute certainty that Vanitha’s father-in-law was fucking a woman half his age.

And that, Summer thought as she closed the door quietly behind her, was exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.

[Pushpa Purusan]

Vanitha can't breast feed selvam and here comes Tara. I actually thought latha will do it after giving birth to selvam child

[Gajakidost]

The idea is simple. Fuck Tara once and make her yours like other woman. She will give her and her home divorce mohan.