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

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[Hotgiri]

Hello,
It would be more exciting if you can add pics and gif in between story and paragraph as per sexual act, it will be more erotic and interesting

[29e5o.a7.9.]

Ohh Prady OMG! This was the greatest updates in the history of updates!! WOW OMFGG!!!
I don't even know where to begin... The entire episode felt hypnotic!

I remember I was reading till the update where Rajendran left her in the middle of the crowd... it was so damn erotic but I was like damn wish there was update immediately,... Then it was around 1:00 AM something, I just hit refresh and there it was the brand new update! It's like you heard my prayers!

The things that were happening in the dance floor were already too erotic and for me the most memorable and breaking point was when Devika allowed a random stranger ugly uncle with big fucking paunch to let him grind his groin into her and she allowed with him! Not just that she participated with him by grinding her voluptious ass back into his tool... Damn....That was it! I came like anything. Devika drained me like anything. Couldn't handle it...too erotic. Can't wait to get to part where Devika drains the poojari like anything right inside her.

And the writing so surreal Like it was happening right before my eyes! Bless you and thank you Prady. You are an amazing story teller!

[29e5o.a7.9.]

Each and every images are hottt! Are these foreshadowing of the upcoming events??

[pro10]

Will there be no update today?

[prady12191]

[Voiden]

Fire!

[pro10]

Missed the update last night.
Hope there will be update today with lots of actions.

[Sarran Raj]

Let this old bastards fuck her that she forget her family and herself.

[Bowlg78]

Waiting for kulakarni arrival.....his adventures with devika in this monsoon season


What about...kitchen base scene and scenes planned by devika with kulakarni... eagerly waiting

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

[prady12191]

The morning light came grey through the kitchen window. Devika stood at the stove, wooden spatula moving through the sambar with mechanical rhythm. The vessels clinked. The pressure cooker hissed. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

Behind her, the front door opened and closed.

"Devi?"

Arjun's voice — tired, hoarse, carrying the weight of twelve hours staring at code. She heard his laptop bag hit the floor. His shoes being kicked off. The shuffle of socked feet across tile.

"In here."

He appeared in the kitchen doorway. Dark circles under his eyes. Shirt wrinkled, collar askew. The stubble on his jaw two days past acceptable. He looked like a man who'd been wrung out and hung to dry.

"Long night?"

"Server crashed at 3 AM. Had to rebuild the entire deployment pipeline." He rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me for lunch?"

"Okay."

He was gone before the word finished leaving her mouth. The bedroom door clicked shut. Within minutes, the soft rumble of his snoring drifted down the hallway.

Devika turned back to the sambar. Stirred. Added salt. Tasted. The motions kept her hands busy while her mind wandered to places it shouldn't — black silk pooled on the floor, the ghost-pressure of rough fingers on her navel, the taste of paan and camphor on lips that weren't her husband's.

She pressed the wooden spatula hard against the pot's edge. Focused on the grain of the wood. The heat rising from the stove. Anything solid. Anything present.

Stop it. He's sleeping ten feet away. Your HUSBAND is sleeping ten feet away.

The morning passed in domestic routine. She swept the floor. Wiped the kitchen counters. Sorted the laundry — his work shirts, her cotton sarees, the black silk she'd worn last night tucked at the bottom of the pile, unwashed, still carrying the smell of temple smoke and sweat. She'd wash it later. Tomorrow. Next week.

She wouldn't wash it.



Arjun emerged at one in the afternoon, shuffling into the dining area with his hair sticking up on one side and pillow creases marking his left cheek. He dropped into the chair across from her and stared at the rice and sambar she'd laid out like a man seeing food for the first time.

"Smells good."

"Eat."

He ate. She watched him eat — the methodical way he mixed rice and sambar with his right hand, the small grunts of satisfaction, the complete absorption in the act of feeding himself. For five minutes, neither spoke. The ceiling fan turned overhead. A crow cawed outside the window.

Then Arjun set down his water glass and cleared his throat.

"Devi... I've been thinking."

She looked up. Something in his tone. Different from the usual work complaints and release cycle updates. Heavier.

"About what?"

"Work has been..." He paused. Rubbed the back of his neck. "Difficult. Very difficult lately. The client is making impossible demands. My manager is breathing down my neck. Every morning I wake up with this weight on my chest, like something is pressing down."

"You're stressed. It's normal—"

"It's not just stress." He met her eyes. "I think there's something wrong. Some negative energy affecting my work. My concentration. Everything."

Devika's hand paused mid-reach for the water jug. "Negative energy?"

"I know how it sounds. But my mother used to say — when things go wrong continuously, when nothing you do seems to work, sometimes it's not about skill or effort. Sometimes there's a... blockage. Something that needs to be cleared."

She set the jug down slowly. "What are you thinking?"

"Homan."

The word landed between them like a dropped stone.

"Homan," she repeated. "Here? In the flat?"

"Why not? We have space. The living room is big enough. And my mother always said homan is the most powerful way to remove obstacles, to clear negative energy, to—"

"I know what homan is, Arjun." Her voice came out sharper than intended. She softened it. "I'm just... surprised. You never talked about these things before. You always said pujas and rituals were old-fashioned—"

"I was wrong." His jaw set. That stubborn line she'd learned to recognize in their first month of marriage. "I've tried everything else. Extra hours. Weekend work. Skipping meals to finish deliverables. Nothing is helping. The problems keep multiplying. If there's even a chance that homan might clear whatever is blocking me..."

Devika pressed her lips together. The sambar on her plate had gone cold. She pushed a grain of rice around with her finger.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"If you think it will help. We can do homan."

Arjun's shoulders relaxed. The tight line of his jaw softened. "Good. Good. I was thinking this Sunday. We can arrange everything by then."

"Sunday. That's..." She counted. Four days. "That's soon."

"The sooner the better. I can't keep going like this, Devi. Something has to change."

She nodded. Looked at her plate. The grain of rice she'd been pushing had left a trail through the sambar like a tiny boat through orange water.

"Who will conduct it?" The question came out carefully. Casually. As if she hadn't been turning it over in her mind since the word homan left his mouth. "We'll need a priest. A proper one."

"Rajendran."

Her stomach dropped.

"He's right here in the building. Does pujas all the time. Everyone says he's very knowledgeable, very experienced. Meenakshi aunty's daughter's wedding — he did all the rituals. Very proper, very traditional."

"Yes, but..." She searched for words. Safe words. "He might be busy. Temple duties and all. Maybe we should call someone else. From outside. There are agencies that—"

"Agencies?" Arjun frowned. "Devi, we have a temple priest living in our own building. Why would we pay strangers to come from outside? Rajendran sir knows us. Knows the building. It will be comfortable, familiar."

Familiar. The word sat in her mouth like a stone.

"I just don't want to disturb him. He's an old man. These rituals take hours. The smoke, the chanting, the sitting on the floor... it might be too much for him."

"Too much?" Arjun laughed — the first genuine laugh she'd heard from him in days. "Devi, the man does this every day. This is his profession. You think a simple homan in our flat will tire him out?"

"That's not what I—"

"Besides, I've seen him at functions. Strong as an ox for his age. Sits cross-legged for hours without shifting. Voice doesn't even crack during long mantras." Arjun shook his head, still smiling. "No, no — Rajendran sir is perfect. I'll ask him today itself."

Devika's fingers had gone white around her water glass. She loosened her grip. Breathed.

Think. Say something. Give him a reason that makes sense.

"What if he says no? He might have prior commitments. Temple festivals, other pujas..."

"Then we'll reschedule. But I doubt he'll say no. He's always been friendly to us. Remember when he helped carry the groceries that day? Very helpful man."

Helpful. His hands on her waist in the bride room. His finger in her navel in the crowd. His hardness pressed against her stomach while five hundred people danced around them.

"Arjun..." She set down the glass. Met his eyes. "Maybe we should consider other options. The temple near Laxmi Road has priests who do house visits. My mother's cousin knows a very good pandit in Satara who—"

"Satara? You want me to bring a priest from Satara for a homan?" Arjun's frown deepened. "Devi, what's going on? Why are you so against Rajendran sir? Did something happen?"

The question hung in the air. Heavy. Loaded.

Tell him. Tell him everything. The temple corridor. The wedding. The dancing. The kisses. Tell him and watch his face change and—

"Nothing happened."

The lie came out smooth. Practiced. The same lie she'd been telling herself for weeks.

"Then what's the problem?"

"There's no problem. I just thought..." She waved her hand vaguely. "Outside priest might be better. More professional. Less... awkward."

"Awkward?"

"He lives in the building. We see him every day. Having him do personal rituals in our flat... it might feel strange afterward. Every time we pass him in the corridor, there will be this... thing between us."

Arjun stared at her for a long moment. Then he sighed. Reached across the table. Took her hand.

"Devi. I know you're a private person. I know you don't like people getting too close. But Rajendran sir is harmless. A temple priest. A widower who spends his days doing puja and his nights sleeping alone in that small room. What possible 'thing' could there be?"

His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. Gentle. Reassuring. The touch of a husband who thought he understood his wife.

"I need this, Devi. Work is killing me. I feel like I'm drowning every day. If homan can help — if there's even a small chance — I have to try. And I trust Rajendran sir. Everyone in the building trusts him. He's been doing rituals here for years. Never any complaints."

Complaints. The cleaning woman bent over the cot post. The rhythm. The grunting.

Devika closed her eyes. Opened them.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"If you think Rajendran sir is the right person... okay. We'll ask him."

The relief that flooded Arjun's face was almost painful to watch. He squeezed her hand. Smiled — that rare, full smile she'd fallen in love with three years ago. Before the job. Before Pune. Before everything.

"Thank you, Devi. This means a lot."

"I know."

"I'll talk to him today. After I wake up properly. Maybe evening time, when he's done with temple duties."

"Evening. Yes."

"Sunday morning, then. We'll need to buy havan samagri, ghee, flowers... you can handle that?"

"I can handle it."

"Good." He stood. Stretched. His spine cracked audibly. "I'm going back to sleep for a few hours. The release is tonight — I'll need my energy."

He walked around the table. Bent. Kissed the top of her head. His lips were dry against her hair. Brief. Distracted.

"You're the best wife, Devi. You know that?"

She didn't answer. Just sat there, staring at the cold sambar on her plate, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway, the bedroom door closing, the silence that followed.

Sunday.

The word echoed in the empty dining room.

Sunday he comes here. Into this flat. Where I sleep. Where I bathe. Where I stand in front of my mirror at midnight touching my swollen lip and thinking about—

She stood abruptly. The chair scbangd against the floor. She gathered the plates with shaking hands and carried them to the kitchen.

The tap ran cold over her wrists. She let the water flow. Counted her breaths.

Four days. I have four days to figure out how to sit in the same room with that man while my husband watches. Four days to learn how to look at his face without seeing his hands. Four days to forget the taste of him.

The water kept running. Her reflection stared back at her from the kitchen window — faint, ghost-like, superimposed over the grey afternoon sky.

Four days.

[prady12191]

The evening temple bell rang its final note as Arjun approached the small quarters behind the building's prayer hall. The corridor smelled of camphor and old incense — that particular mustiness of sacred spaces rarely aired.

He knocked twice.

"Rajendran sir? Are you there?"

Shuffling sounds from within. The scbang of a chair. Then the door opened, revealing the priest in his usual white dhoti, the big kumkum mark fresh on his forehead, grey hair still damp from evening ablutions.

"Arjun beta! What brings you here?" The old man's voice carried warmth. Grandfatherly concern. "Everything alright at home?"

"Yes, yes — everything is fine, sir. I wanted to discuss something with you. Do you have a moment?"

Rajendran's eyes flickered — just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable. A calculation happening behind those small, sharp pupils.

"Come, come. Sit."

The quarters were cramped. A single cot pushed against one wall, a small puja corner crowded with brass idols and wilting flowers, a plastic chair that Rajendran pulled out for his guest. The priest settled onto his cot, knees creaking, and fixed Arjun with an attentive gaze.

"Tell me, beta. What's troubling you?"

Arjun launched into it — the work stress, the impossible deadlines, the feeling of being cursed. The words tumbled out, weeks of frustration finally finding release. Rajendran listened with practiced patience, nodding at appropriate moments, making small sounds of sympathy.

But his mind had already drifted elsewhere.

His flat. He wants me inside his flat.

The thought sent a pulse of heat straight to his groin. Under the white dhoti, his cock stirred — that familiar thickening he'd learned to hide over decades of temple service.

Devika. In her own home. Sitting for homan. Close enough to touch.

He shifted slightly on the cot. Adjusted the fabric across his lap.

"...so I was thinking homan might help. Clear whatever negative energy is blocking my progress. My mother always believed in these things, and lately I've started to understand why."

Rajendran stroked his chin. Let the silence stretch. The art of appearing thoughtful while his blood ran hot with anticipation.

"Homan is very powerful, beta. Very powerful indeed." He kept his voice measured. Serious. "But it requires proper preparation. Proper timing. I have temple duties — morning puja, evening aarti, the upcoming Kartik purnima arrangements..."

Arjun's face fell. "I understand, sir. If you're too busy—"

"I didn't say no." Rajendran held up one large, rough hand. Let the moment hang. "When were you thinking?"

"This Sunday? Morning time?"

Sunday. Four days.

His cock pulsed again. He pressed his thigh against it, maintaining the grave expression of a holy man considering sacred matters.

"Sunday is difficult. Temple committee meeting in the afternoon. Sponsor visits in the evening."

"Please, sir." Arjun leaned forward. Desperate. "I'll arrange everything. Samagri, flowers, ghee — Devika will handle all preparations. You just have to come and perform the rituals. I'll pay whatever dakshina you ask."

Devika will handle preparations.

The image bloomed unbidden — her bending to arrange flowers around the havan kund, pallu slipping, that soft curve of waist he'd traced with his finger in the temple crowd...

"Your wife will be present throughout?"

"Of course. She'll assist with the offerings. Pour ghee when needed. All that."

Rajendran closed his eyes. Appeared to be consulting some inner spiritual calendar. In reality, he was savoring the fantasy — Devika in her home, trapped by ritual and her husband's presence, unable to escape his proximity for hours.



"Alright, beta."

Arjun's face transformed. Relief flooding every feature.

"You'll do it? Really?"

"How can I refuse when a young man comes seeking blessings with such sincerity?" Rajendran smiled — that crooked yellow smile that made Devika's skin crawl. "Sunday morning. Six o'clock sharp. I'll bring the sacred fire myself."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much." Arjun pressed his palms together. "You don't know what this means to me."

Oh, I know exactly what it means.

"Go home, beta. Rest. Tell your wife to prepare the east-facing corner of your living room. Clean it thoroughly. No leather items nearby. And..." He paused. Let his voice drop to something intimate, confidential. "Tell her to wear simple clothes. Cotton. White or light colors. Nothing too elaborate. The gods prefer humility."


"I'll tell her. Definitely."

Arjun rose. Touched Rajendran's feet in respect. The priest blessed him with one hand while the other remained strategically dbangd across his lap, hiding the growing bulge beneath his dhoti.

"Go safely, beta. I'll see you Sunday."

The door closed. Footsteps faded down the corridor.

Rajendran sat motionless for a long moment. Then his hand moved beneath the white fabric, finding the rigid heat of his erection. He gripped himself through the thin cotton. Squeezed.

Her flat. Her home. Her husband watching while I sit three feet away from her.

While I chant mantras over sacred fire.

While she feeds ghee into flames with those soft fingers I've tasted.

He stroked slowly. Eyes closed. The smell of camphor filling his nostrils.

Sunday.

[prady12191]

[Bowlg78]

Waiting....prady bro... especially sensual romance like chat between kaka and devika


Ur way of creation of scenes superb