30-03-2025, 03:47 AM
(This post was last modified: 30-03-2025, 03:48 AM by adams_masala. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 19: Vanitha and Selvam in Chennai
A clutch of taxis vie for attention like suitors at a pageant, each honking louder than the last. Vanitha breathes in the heat and smog, a welcome change from the antiseptic chill of American suburbia. She sees him: Selvam, poised against a backdrop of touting drivers and sweating tourists, eyes like a teen at a Taylor Swift concert. Vanitha waves. The former beauty queen waves at him.
She crosses the chaos with a purposeful grace, each step revealing a touch of her modern flair. As she reaches Selvam, the jostling crowd becomes mere background to her father-in-law.
"You're finally here, Vanitha," Selvam says, his voice straddling joy and nerves.
"I'm here!" she replies, the warmth of her words matching the warmth of the city. "You didn't have to come all the way to pick me up."
"Of course I did," he insists, holding open the door to his car. "I couldn't miss seeing you the moment you arrived."
Vanitha smiles, sliding into the passenger seat. She watches Selvam, observing his familiar features with an almost clinical affection. He looks back at her, eyes lingering, caught between familial duty and the thrill of an admirer seeing his muse in the flesh.
"Everything okay, Uncle?" she teases. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," he says, starting the car with a shy grin. "More like a movie star." He can’t believe he actually said that. Vanitha was a little surprised too.
The drive through Chennai is a sensory feast, each street a tapestry of color and life. Vanitha leans back, the nostalgia settling comfortably around her. She points to landmarks and changes, her excitement weaving with Selvam’s quiet attentiveness.
"How are you adjusting, back home?" he asks, threading his question with genuine care.
"It's been quite the change," Vanitha admits. "Ashok's work keeps him so busy. It's nice to be here, where everything feels alive."
"And your videos? They've been getting quite popular."
She laughs, a soft musical note. "You keep track of my followers?"
Selvam’s fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "I try to keep up. You make it hard for us older folks to follow everything."
Their laughter mingles with the honking of the traffic. As they reach Selvam’s home, Vanitha surveys the place with an appreciative eye, noticing the subtle changes made for her comfort.
"This is lovely," she remarks, her gaze sweeping over the newly painted walls and fresh flowers. "You did all this for me, uncle?"
"I wanted you to feel at home," Selvam says. "I hope it's to your liking."
"It's perfect," she assures him, touching his arm with the familiarity of old friends and new family. Her fingers lingered a bit longer on his hairy strong forearm.
As they step inside, Vanitha’s exhaustion mingles with relief. Selvam motions toward the bedroom with attached bathroom. "You must be tired from the flight. Why don't you freshen up?"
"Thank you, I think I will," Vanitha replies, her eyes gleaming with affection.
“Sorry ma, the showerhead in your bathroom isn’t working, plumber is coming later today to fix it. Use this bathroom today.” He points to the large bathroom tucked away from the living room.
She enters the bathroom, and the sound of the shower starts soon after. Selvam stands outside, acutely aware of each drop of water, each faint movement. He imagines her delicate and meticulous, the steam a veil around her fit and graceful form. Her voice calls out, bringing him back to himself.
"I didn't realize how much I missed this heat!" she shouts playfully.
He laughs, the tension breaking like bubbles in the steamy air. "Nothing like a Chennai summer to warm you up!"
Vanitha emerges, her skin flushed and glowing, wrapped in a towel with the elegance of a high-fashion sari. Selvam watches her, an almost reverent silence accompanying his stolen glances.
"Where do you want my things?" she asks, tilting her head.
He gestures to a room with a subtle flourish, his composure returning. "You can use this as your studio to create your reels. The light is good, and you’ll have plenty of space."
"And where do I sleep?" she teases, a glint in her eye.
He shows her another room. "Here, with an attached bathroom. I thought it would be private for you."
"It's wonderful, Uncle. But you're too kind."
"I only want you to have what you need."
They settle into the main room, the earlier excitement mellowing into a comfortable closeness. Selvam ventures to ask about her work, his voice measured and careful.
"So, any plans for new videos? Your audience will want to know you're back."
Vanitha sighs, a dramatic flutter of lashes. "Honestly, I'm not in the mood right now. And I didn’t bring the sarees I use specifically for reels."
He nods, absorbing the information, a plan already taking shape in his mind. "Maybe we can do something about that."
Her curiosity piqued, Vanitha raises an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
"Just a thought," Selvam says with a mysterious air. "But you must be tired. Why don't we talk more over dinner?"
She agrees, her expression a mix of intrigue and affection. As they move to eat, Selvam steals a last glance, his thoughts a tangled web of devotion and desire.
The next day Selvam suggests at breakfast table.
“I want to take you shopping Vanitha, so you can keep your mind occupied doing things you love.”
“Oh uncle, you are too kind, but that’s too much”
But Selvam triumphs and they both go to shopping.
Spools of fabric unwind like plans for a secret affair, their colors daring each other to be more outrageous. Vendors make hushed promises of the best price, the finest weave, as Vanitha floats from saree to saree, her discerning fingers trailing over each. Selvam follows, pretending to consider the cloth, but really watching the woman he once knew through a screen.
Inside, the shop is a living tapestry of activity, layers of vibrant textiles and bustling voices. The chatter and laughter form a buzzing backdrop as Vanitha surveys the selection, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"It's more lively than I remember," Vanitha says, brushing her fingers over a brilliant blue silk.
"It's quite the scene," Selvam replies, trying to match her enthusiasm while hiding the real source of his excitement.
"Do you like this one?" she asks, holding up the fabric for his inspection.
He nods, more caught by the way the color complements her than by the fabric itself. "I think it would suit you well."
She tilts her head, playfully suspicious. "You mean, it suits my followers well?"
Selvam chuckles, watching her with eyes that see much more than sarees. "Maybe both."
Vanitha moves deeper into the shop, each graceful motion an invitation for Selvam's gaze to follow. She handles the fabrics with care, her expertise evident in each deliberate choice.
"You haven't lost your touch," Selvam comments as Vanitha narrows down her selections.
"You're just easily impressed," she counters, an affectionate tease in her tone. "What do you think of this green one?"
"Very striking," he says, "but isn't yellow your favorite?"
She laughs, a sound that wraps around him like silk. "You're paying more attention than I thought."
The shopkeeper, sensing the potential for a good sale, pulls additional options for them, dbanging Vanitha in choices that mirror her elegance and allure. They go through each, their conversation punctuated by laughter and shared glances.
Vanitha eventually settles on a small collection and makes her way to a secluded corner where a tiny dressing room waits. She turns to Selvam, her smile hinting at her intent.
"Want to see how these look?" she asks, disappearing behind the curtain before he can respond.
He stands outside, a palpable anticipation radiating from him. The murmur of the shop fades as his focus narrows to the narrow gap in the dressing room curtain. Vanitha’s movements inside are deliberate, each rustle of fabric magnifying his awareness.
Selvam's breath catches as Vanitha slips off her saree and blouse, revealing the curve of her shoulder and a tantalizing glimpse of lace. She removes her saree and petticoat, standing in just her bra and panties, her fit body a study of disciplined beauty. The sight, both accidental and overwhelming, sends a jolt through him.
Vanitha takes her time trying on the first saree, wrapping it low on her hips with the practiced flair of a beauty queen. She emerges, poised and radiant, and twirls for him.
"Well?" she prompts, reading the awe on his face.
"Beautiful," Selvam manages, his voice a touch too thick, the image of her in undress imprinted on his mind.
Vanitha returns to the dressing room, emboldened by his reaction. She removes the first saree slowly, an unspoken awareness of her effect on him. This time, she slips on a lehenga with a crop top, the outfit teasingly modern and unexpectedly bold.
"Not sure how traditional this is," she calls, stepping out to model the daring ensemble.
Selvam looks at her, the crop top revealing her midriff and turning his pulse into a drumbeat. "I think it suits you," he says, a flustered edge in his tone.
"You do?" she replies, enjoying the effect she has on him. "Maybe I'll get this one just for you." She teased.
“But, it’s probably too much for Instagram.” He said hesitantly.
Her words hang between them, laden with the playful tension she knows so well. She tries on the final saree, dbanging it expertly, before changing back to her clothes and stepping out.
"You know you will look good in both sarees," Selvam remarks, trying to reclaim some composure. "But I think you already have that pink color. Why don't you pick the yellow one?"
His suggestion is careful, yet filled with a subtext that only Vanitha seems to notice. She regards him with a puzzled smile, intrigued by his persistence.
"Yellow it is then," she decides, her acceptance wrapping them both in the intimacy of a shared secret.
They finalize their purchase, the shopkeeper delighted, and step back into the vivid life of the market. Vanitha carries the new clothes, and Selvam carries the charged memory of the dressing room, the blurred lines of their relationship turning into something irresistibly tempting.
As they park the car come inside the home Selvam casually said “So, now that you have your saree, do you want to make the reel?”
He walked her to the door that lead to the studio he created for her, just for her to make videos for Instagram.
The space is ready for Vanitha's performance, a stage of perfectly calculated charm. Lights glow with studio-soft warmth, a mirror reflects both the poised woman and the one enraptured man. Selvam stands on the periphery, knowing that she's always aware of her audience, even when they pretend to be invisible. Especially when they pretend to be invisible.
Vanitha's eyes widen as she takes in the room, its transformation both modern and traditional, a careful bridge between worlds. "Selvam," she breathes, the excitement bubbling in her voice. "This is incredible."
"I'm glad you like it," he says, trying to mask the undercurrent of deeper intentions.
"It's like you knew exactly what I needed," she replies, spinning around to take in every detail. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Selvam drinks it in like a man starved for affection.
"I thought it might inspire you," he says, his eyes following her every movement.
Vanitha smiles, setting up the camera with practiced ease. "It's perfect. I didn't expect this at all."
"You're full of surprises yourself," he murmurs, too low for her to catch.
As she arranges the first saree for filming, Selvam leans against the doorframe, caught in the magnetism of her presence. Vanitha moves with the fluid grace of someone who knows she's always being watched.
"I'm going to start with this yellow one," she calls, adjusting the lighting. "It's nice, don't you think?"
"Very nice," Selvam agrees, the fabric clinging to her in a way that leaves him struggling to maintain composure.
Vanitha begins the video, her introduction both polished and personal. She dbangs the saree low, accentuating the curve of her hip, her form outlined in seductive precision. Each wrap, each fold, is a dance that leaves Selvam breathless.
"And now, let's switch it up," she says to the camera, a twinkle in her eye. She changes to a deep red saree, the shift a deliberate performance that knows exactly its impact.
Selvam watches, captivated and conflicted, as Vanitha showcases herself with the confidence of a pageant queen. His admiration is raw, unguarded, and the intimacy of the moment unravels his carefully held self-control.
The red saree comes off, the lehenga from earlier taking its place. Vanitha moves to catch her most alluring angles, aware of Selvam's gaze even if her lens pretends not to be. His heartbeat races with each piece she adds or removes.
"You don't think this one is too much, do you?" she asks, modeling the crop top with feigned innocence.
"No," he replies, the word coming out strained. "Not at all."
As Vanitha finishes filming, she transitions to her final look, the last saree a cascade of shimmering elegance. Selvam’s desire grows stronger with each second, his presence more charged than the room’s new equipment.
With her video complete, Vanitha approaches Selvam, gratitude shining in her eyes. She embraces him impulsively, a warm gesture that breaks past his defenses. She gave him a geniun hug like a daughter to a father figure.
"Thank you for all this, Uncle" she says, her touch sending shockwaves through him.
Caught off guard, Selvam's body betrays him. His arousal is unmistakable, a visceral reaction that neither can ignore. Selvam’s erection pressed against her without his control. Vanitha pulls back, surprise and confusion flitting across her face.
Selvam looks back, a mirror of her emotions, seeing in her a blend of the woman he married into Ashok’s family and the muse he secretly admired as SilverFox77.
Later that night, Vanitha lay on her bed, staring into the dim glow of her phone. The ceiling fan traced lazy circles, a gentle whir that could not quiet her racing thoughts. She replayed the day's events, each scene sharp and vivid, lingering especially on the moment Selvam's body pressed against hers. It unsettled her—the warmth, the way he held her a second too long, and the undeniable way she had felt him respond. Perhaps letting him stay while she filmed had been a dreadful miscalculation. She had been so comfortable, so trusting, that she completely disregarded how complex things might become.
He had always seemed warm and caring family, never once hinting at anything more, yet today shattered that illusion spectacularly. The vulnerability in his eyes, the unmistakable desire—it all felt dangerously too real. Lying there, she began to reconsider how freely she moved around him, questioning every small gesture, every playful word. Was she leading him on without realizing it? Was she blind to the signals he'd been sending? Guilt lapped at her conscience, whispering that perhaps she was the one at fault for this new tension that tangled between them like an unspoken thread.
She thought back to his encouragement, his eager suggestion that she continue creating content while in Chennai. Was it just a clever excuse to spend more time in her orbit? And her, dbanging the saree with abandon, wrapping herself in mischief and fabric—had she misunderstood the entire dynamic? She was used to being admired, but this was different. Personal. Intimate in a way she hadn’t anticipated. The recollection of his arousal filled her with an unexpected sadness, a regret for putting him in a position that so clearly tested his self-control.
She tossed in her sheets, trying to make sense of her own mixed feelings. The image of his face as she pulled away—conflicted and raw—was burned into her mind. Would things even be the same anymore?
A room away, Selvam lay awake, his own thoughts a storm of confusion. The memory of her body against his, the way she smelled of jasmine and something else entirely intoxicating, played over and over. Had he crossed a line he couldn't uncross? Vanitha's casual "Thank you, Uncle," was meant as an endearment, yet it now felt like a cruel reminder of where he should stand in her life. He had hoped the day's events would draw them closer, but instead it left him with a haunting disquiet and a yearning he feared would remain unfulfilled.
Vanitha bit her lip as she scrolled through the comments, her heart fluttering at the outpouring of support. "They really missed me," she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips.
She paused when she saw a notification appear—SilverFox77 had commented. Her smile widened instinctively. This particular follower always left the most thoughtful comments, seeing beyond the surface of her videos to appreciate the cultural nuances she worked so hard to showcase.
"Your grace in that saree reminds me of the classical dancers at the Kapaleeshwarar temple," SilverFox77 had written. "The way you've paired the traditional dbanging with modern styling shows such respect for heritage while embracing the present."
Vanitha felt a warm glow spread through her chest. Selvam in the other bedroom posting comments as SilverFox77.
Vanitha's finger hovered over the comment. SilverFox77 had been following her for months now, his observations always striking a perfect balance between appreciation and respect. Unlike the flood of superficial compliments she received, his words seemed to truly see her—the intention behind her choices, the cultural statements woven into each dbang and fold.
She tapped the reply button, something she rarely did with followers.
"Thank you for noticing the temple dance inspiration," she typed. "It means so much when someone understands these little details."
She hesitated before adding: "Your comments always brighten my day."
Pressing send, Vanitha felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach. There was something comforting about this connection—this stranger who somehow made her feel less alone in a moment when everything familiar seemed suddenly complicated.
In the adjacent room, Selvam's phone pinged with a notification. His heart fluttered thinking she is messaging Vanitha who’s right next door in her bedroom.
She carefully uploaded the second video featuring a vibrant, intricately designed saree, allowing herself to sink into the solace of her creative ritual. As the video went live, a flurry of comments began to flood in, with viewers expressing their admiration and excitement. Yet, her mind drifted back to the small, dimly lit dressing room where she'd felt the electric tension in Selvam's gaze, and to the third video she had yet to unveil.
On that shopping trip, she had chosen three distinct pieces: two elegant sarees and a daring lehenga that challenged her comfort zone. She questioned whether she was intentionally holding back or merely biding her time for the perfect opportunity. This indecision gnawed at her, a reminder of the creeping doubt that had unsettled her previously steadfast confidence. Her finger hovered over the "post" button for the provocative lehenga video, which was unlike anything she had shared before. Its audacity reflected the same yearning she had seen in Selvam's eyes. The lehenga's crop top revealed her midriff, her navel, and a hint of cleavage, the dbangd fabric making a bold statement both inviting and assertive. She found herself wrestling with how much to disclose—not just in terms of fashion but in the underlying message of her intentions. She then decided it’s too revealing for the world to see, so she didn’t post it.
In the next room, Selvam wondered why the lehenga remained absent from her posts. Only he knew of its existence, watching with a mix of impatience and hope.
In a moment of unanticipated impulse, she picked up her phone and instead of posting the reel to the world, er eyes glinting with mischief she sent a private message to SilverFox77. She added a teasing message, the allure of the forbidden too tempting to resist. Her fingers hovered over the screen for an instant before she clicked send, dispatching the private missive to her most ardent observer. As the message sent, she felt a flutter of uncertainty in her chest, unsure herself of the intentions behind her actions.
And now the message was there, a notification that filled him with disbelief and triumph. "I bought this only for your eyes," it read, and with it, the video he thought she had abandoned. The lehenga, more revealing than anything before, was a testament to their unspoken connection.
The crop top clung tightly to her, revealing the smooth expanse of her midriff and the delicate curve of her navel, while the fabric dipped low, accentuating the swell of her cleavage. His gaze lingered on the boldness of her outfit, mirroring the surge of desire that coursed through him. He noticed the confident sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her smile, which left him both excited and on edge, captivated by the openness of her gesture.
Selvam was in disbelief; she had sent it directly to him as a private message. Watching her uninhibited performance ignited a fire within him, challenging his resolve. Was this intimate gesture real or imagined? The experience was both intoxicating and terrifying, shattering his boundaries and electrifying him, shaking the foundations of the roles he thought they played.
His body responded immediately, desire pulsing through him with a ferocity that left him both exhilarated and desperate for some semblance of control. His cock raised up, a powerful testament to the arousal he couldn't deny, no matter how hard he tried. He felt himself being pulled into a dangerous territory where the lines of propriety blurred with the rawness of his craving. How was he supposed to navigate this new reality where the woman he couldn't stop thinking about seemed to invite him deeper into a world of shared secrecy?
Despite the overwhelming urge to give in to the fantasy she offered, a part of him resisted. This was Vanitha—Ashok's wife, the girl who came to his home for shelter and support. A sense of moral duty fought against the tantalizing promise of her message, forcing him to reconsider how far he was willing to let this go. His head spun with the complexity of it all, the fantasy so tantalizingly close yet fraught with risk. Had she sent it knowing the turmoil it would cause him, or did she simply not realize the intensity of her impact?
With effort, Selvam controlled himself, the struggle between his desires and his principles as intense as the jolt of arousal that now coursed through his veins. He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of restraint to act with the respect he knew she deserved. Her message was not just a tantalizing tease but a test of his self-control and his ability to maintain the delicate balance of their newfound relationship. He forced himself to sleep, though not before carefully composing a reply.
He knew he had to respond to her with the thoughtful appreciation she'd come to expect from SilverFox77. Anything less might betray the turmoil her video had ignited. His fingers moved over the screen, crafting a message that showed his admiration without overstepping the fragile boundary between them.
"Your boldness is unmatched," he wrote, making sure each word conveyed the depth of his feelings while maintaining the respectful tone she had come to recognize. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I am honored." He hesitated before sending it, hoping she would understand the layers of meaning his words attempted to convey.
Exhaling deeply, he tapped the send button, dispatching the message into the night. Would this be enough to maintain the connection without tipping them into chaos? He hoped so, even as his mind raced with the implications. His thoughts lingered on the vivid image of her in the Lehenga, and he drifted into a restless sleep filled with dreams that left him yearning and hopeful.
The message caused Vanitha to feel a sense of triumph. She went to sleep peacefully.
A clutch of taxis vie for attention like suitors at a pageant, each honking louder than the last. Vanitha breathes in the heat and smog, a welcome change from the antiseptic chill of American suburbia. She sees him: Selvam, poised against a backdrop of touting drivers and sweating tourists, eyes like a teen at a Taylor Swift concert. Vanitha waves. The former beauty queen waves at him.
She crosses the chaos with a purposeful grace, each step revealing a touch of her modern flair. As she reaches Selvam, the jostling crowd becomes mere background to her father-in-law.
"You're finally here, Vanitha," Selvam says, his voice straddling joy and nerves.
"I'm here!" she replies, the warmth of her words matching the warmth of the city. "You didn't have to come all the way to pick me up."
"Of course I did," he insists, holding open the door to his car. "I couldn't miss seeing you the moment you arrived."
Vanitha smiles, sliding into the passenger seat. She watches Selvam, observing his familiar features with an almost clinical affection. He looks back at her, eyes lingering, caught between familial duty and the thrill of an admirer seeing his muse in the flesh.
"Everything okay, Uncle?" she teases. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," he says, starting the car with a shy grin. "More like a movie star." He can’t believe he actually said that. Vanitha was a little surprised too.
The drive through Chennai is a sensory feast, each street a tapestry of color and life. Vanitha leans back, the nostalgia settling comfortably around her. She points to landmarks and changes, her excitement weaving with Selvam’s quiet attentiveness.
"How are you adjusting, back home?" he asks, threading his question with genuine care.
"It's been quite the change," Vanitha admits. "Ashok's work keeps him so busy. It's nice to be here, where everything feels alive."
"And your videos? They've been getting quite popular."
She laughs, a soft musical note. "You keep track of my followers?"
Selvam’s fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "I try to keep up. You make it hard for us older folks to follow everything."
Their laughter mingles with the honking of the traffic. As they reach Selvam’s home, Vanitha surveys the place with an appreciative eye, noticing the subtle changes made for her comfort.
"This is lovely," she remarks, her gaze sweeping over the newly painted walls and fresh flowers. "You did all this for me, uncle?"
"I wanted you to feel at home," Selvam says. "I hope it's to your liking."
"It's perfect," she assures him, touching his arm with the familiarity of old friends and new family. Her fingers lingered a bit longer on his hairy strong forearm.
As they step inside, Vanitha’s exhaustion mingles with relief. Selvam motions toward the bedroom with attached bathroom. "You must be tired from the flight. Why don't you freshen up?"
"Thank you, I think I will," Vanitha replies, her eyes gleaming with affection.
“Sorry ma, the showerhead in your bathroom isn’t working, plumber is coming later today to fix it. Use this bathroom today.” He points to the large bathroom tucked away from the living room.
She enters the bathroom, and the sound of the shower starts soon after. Selvam stands outside, acutely aware of each drop of water, each faint movement. He imagines her delicate and meticulous, the steam a veil around her fit and graceful form. Her voice calls out, bringing him back to himself.
"I didn't realize how much I missed this heat!" she shouts playfully.
He laughs, the tension breaking like bubbles in the steamy air. "Nothing like a Chennai summer to warm you up!"
Vanitha emerges, her skin flushed and glowing, wrapped in a towel with the elegance of a high-fashion sari. Selvam watches her, an almost reverent silence accompanying his stolen glances.
"Where do you want my things?" she asks, tilting her head.
He gestures to a room with a subtle flourish, his composure returning. "You can use this as your studio to create your reels. The light is good, and you’ll have plenty of space."
"And where do I sleep?" she teases, a glint in her eye.
He shows her another room. "Here, with an attached bathroom. I thought it would be private for you."
"It's wonderful, Uncle. But you're too kind."
"I only want you to have what you need."
They settle into the main room, the earlier excitement mellowing into a comfortable closeness. Selvam ventures to ask about her work, his voice measured and careful.
"So, any plans for new videos? Your audience will want to know you're back."
Vanitha sighs, a dramatic flutter of lashes. "Honestly, I'm not in the mood right now. And I didn’t bring the sarees I use specifically for reels."
He nods, absorbing the information, a plan already taking shape in his mind. "Maybe we can do something about that."
Her curiosity piqued, Vanitha raises an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
"Just a thought," Selvam says with a mysterious air. "But you must be tired. Why don't we talk more over dinner?"
She agrees, her expression a mix of intrigue and affection. As they move to eat, Selvam steals a last glance, his thoughts a tangled web of devotion and desire.
The next day Selvam suggests at breakfast table.
“I want to take you shopping Vanitha, so you can keep your mind occupied doing things you love.”
“Oh uncle, you are too kind, but that’s too much”
But Selvam triumphs and they both go to shopping.
Spools of fabric unwind like plans for a secret affair, their colors daring each other to be more outrageous. Vendors make hushed promises of the best price, the finest weave, as Vanitha floats from saree to saree, her discerning fingers trailing over each. Selvam follows, pretending to consider the cloth, but really watching the woman he once knew through a screen.
Inside, the shop is a living tapestry of activity, layers of vibrant textiles and bustling voices. The chatter and laughter form a buzzing backdrop as Vanitha surveys the selection, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
"It's more lively than I remember," Vanitha says, brushing her fingers over a brilliant blue silk.
"It's quite the scene," Selvam replies, trying to match her enthusiasm while hiding the real source of his excitement.
"Do you like this one?" she asks, holding up the fabric for his inspection.
He nods, more caught by the way the color complements her than by the fabric itself. "I think it would suit you well."
She tilts her head, playfully suspicious. "You mean, it suits my followers well?"
Selvam chuckles, watching her with eyes that see much more than sarees. "Maybe both."
Vanitha moves deeper into the shop, each graceful motion an invitation for Selvam's gaze to follow. She handles the fabrics with care, her expertise evident in each deliberate choice.
"You haven't lost your touch," Selvam comments as Vanitha narrows down her selections.
"You're just easily impressed," she counters, an affectionate tease in her tone. "What do you think of this green one?"
"Very striking," he says, "but isn't yellow your favorite?"
She laughs, a sound that wraps around him like silk. "You're paying more attention than I thought."
The shopkeeper, sensing the potential for a good sale, pulls additional options for them, dbanging Vanitha in choices that mirror her elegance and allure. They go through each, their conversation punctuated by laughter and shared glances.
Vanitha eventually settles on a small collection and makes her way to a secluded corner where a tiny dressing room waits. She turns to Selvam, her smile hinting at her intent.
"Want to see how these look?" she asks, disappearing behind the curtain before he can respond.
He stands outside, a palpable anticipation radiating from him. The murmur of the shop fades as his focus narrows to the narrow gap in the dressing room curtain. Vanitha’s movements inside are deliberate, each rustle of fabric magnifying his awareness.
Selvam's breath catches as Vanitha slips off her saree and blouse, revealing the curve of her shoulder and a tantalizing glimpse of lace. She removes her saree and petticoat, standing in just her bra and panties, her fit body a study of disciplined beauty. The sight, both accidental and overwhelming, sends a jolt through him.
Vanitha takes her time trying on the first saree, wrapping it low on her hips with the practiced flair of a beauty queen. She emerges, poised and radiant, and twirls for him.
"Well?" she prompts, reading the awe on his face.
"Beautiful," Selvam manages, his voice a touch too thick, the image of her in undress imprinted on his mind.
Vanitha returns to the dressing room, emboldened by his reaction. She removes the first saree slowly, an unspoken awareness of her effect on him. This time, she slips on a lehenga with a crop top, the outfit teasingly modern and unexpectedly bold.
"Not sure how traditional this is," she calls, stepping out to model the daring ensemble.
Selvam looks at her, the crop top revealing her midriff and turning his pulse into a drumbeat. "I think it suits you," he says, a flustered edge in his tone.
"You do?" she replies, enjoying the effect she has on him. "Maybe I'll get this one just for you." She teased.
“But, it’s probably too much for Instagram.” He said hesitantly.
Her words hang between them, laden with the playful tension she knows so well. She tries on the final saree, dbanging it expertly, before changing back to her clothes and stepping out.
"You know you will look good in both sarees," Selvam remarks, trying to reclaim some composure. "But I think you already have that pink color. Why don't you pick the yellow one?"
His suggestion is careful, yet filled with a subtext that only Vanitha seems to notice. She regards him with a puzzled smile, intrigued by his persistence.
"Yellow it is then," she decides, her acceptance wrapping them both in the intimacy of a shared secret.
They finalize their purchase, the shopkeeper delighted, and step back into the vivid life of the market. Vanitha carries the new clothes, and Selvam carries the charged memory of the dressing room, the blurred lines of their relationship turning into something irresistibly tempting.
As they park the car come inside the home Selvam casually said “So, now that you have your saree, do you want to make the reel?”
He walked her to the door that lead to the studio he created for her, just for her to make videos for Instagram.
The space is ready for Vanitha's performance, a stage of perfectly calculated charm. Lights glow with studio-soft warmth, a mirror reflects both the poised woman and the one enraptured man. Selvam stands on the periphery, knowing that she's always aware of her audience, even when they pretend to be invisible. Especially when they pretend to be invisible.
Vanitha's eyes widen as she takes in the room, its transformation both modern and traditional, a careful bridge between worlds. "Selvam," she breathes, the excitement bubbling in her voice. "This is incredible."
"I'm glad you like it," he says, trying to mask the undercurrent of deeper intentions.
"It's like you knew exactly what I needed," she replies, spinning around to take in every detail. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Selvam drinks it in like a man starved for affection.
"I thought it might inspire you," he says, his eyes following her every movement.
Vanitha smiles, setting up the camera with practiced ease. "It's perfect. I didn't expect this at all."
"You're full of surprises yourself," he murmurs, too low for her to catch.
As she arranges the first saree for filming, Selvam leans against the doorframe, caught in the magnetism of her presence. Vanitha moves with the fluid grace of someone who knows she's always being watched.
"I'm going to start with this yellow one," she calls, adjusting the lighting. "It's nice, don't you think?"
"Very nice," Selvam agrees, the fabric clinging to her in a way that leaves him struggling to maintain composure.
Vanitha begins the video, her introduction both polished and personal. She dbangs the saree low, accentuating the curve of her hip, her form outlined in seductive precision. Each wrap, each fold, is a dance that leaves Selvam breathless.
"And now, let's switch it up," she says to the camera, a twinkle in her eye. She changes to a deep red saree, the shift a deliberate performance that knows exactly its impact.
Selvam watches, captivated and conflicted, as Vanitha showcases herself with the confidence of a pageant queen. His admiration is raw, unguarded, and the intimacy of the moment unravels his carefully held self-control.
The red saree comes off, the lehenga from earlier taking its place. Vanitha moves to catch her most alluring angles, aware of Selvam's gaze even if her lens pretends not to be. His heartbeat races with each piece she adds or removes.
"You don't think this one is too much, do you?" she asks, modeling the crop top with feigned innocence.
"No," he replies, the word coming out strained. "Not at all."
As Vanitha finishes filming, she transitions to her final look, the last saree a cascade of shimmering elegance. Selvam’s desire grows stronger with each second, his presence more charged than the room’s new equipment.
With her video complete, Vanitha approaches Selvam, gratitude shining in her eyes. She embraces him impulsively, a warm gesture that breaks past his defenses. She gave him a geniun hug like a daughter to a father figure.
"Thank you for all this, Uncle" she says, her touch sending shockwaves through him.
Caught off guard, Selvam's body betrays him. His arousal is unmistakable, a visceral reaction that neither can ignore. Selvam’s erection pressed against her without his control. Vanitha pulls back, surprise and confusion flitting across her face.
Selvam looks back, a mirror of her emotions, seeing in her a blend of the woman he married into Ashok’s family and the muse he secretly admired as SilverFox77.
Later that night, Vanitha lay on her bed, staring into the dim glow of her phone. The ceiling fan traced lazy circles, a gentle whir that could not quiet her racing thoughts. She replayed the day's events, each scene sharp and vivid, lingering especially on the moment Selvam's body pressed against hers. It unsettled her—the warmth, the way he held her a second too long, and the undeniable way she had felt him respond. Perhaps letting him stay while she filmed had been a dreadful miscalculation. She had been so comfortable, so trusting, that she completely disregarded how complex things might become.
He had always seemed warm and caring family, never once hinting at anything more, yet today shattered that illusion spectacularly. The vulnerability in his eyes, the unmistakable desire—it all felt dangerously too real. Lying there, she began to reconsider how freely she moved around him, questioning every small gesture, every playful word. Was she leading him on without realizing it? Was she blind to the signals he'd been sending? Guilt lapped at her conscience, whispering that perhaps she was the one at fault for this new tension that tangled between them like an unspoken thread.
She thought back to his encouragement, his eager suggestion that she continue creating content while in Chennai. Was it just a clever excuse to spend more time in her orbit? And her, dbanging the saree with abandon, wrapping herself in mischief and fabric—had she misunderstood the entire dynamic? She was used to being admired, but this was different. Personal. Intimate in a way she hadn’t anticipated. The recollection of his arousal filled her with an unexpected sadness, a regret for putting him in a position that so clearly tested his self-control.
She tossed in her sheets, trying to make sense of her own mixed feelings. The image of his face as she pulled away—conflicted and raw—was burned into her mind. Would things even be the same anymore?
A room away, Selvam lay awake, his own thoughts a storm of confusion. The memory of her body against his, the way she smelled of jasmine and something else entirely intoxicating, played over and over. Had he crossed a line he couldn't uncross? Vanitha's casual "Thank you, Uncle," was meant as an endearment, yet it now felt like a cruel reminder of where he should stand in her life. He had hoped the day's events would draw them closer, but instead it left him with a haunting disquiet and a yearning he feared would remain unfulfilled.
Vanitha bit her lip as she scrolled through the comments, her heart fluttering at the outpouring of support. "They really missed me," she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips.
She paused when she saw a notification appear—SilverFox77 had commented. Her smile widened instinctively. This particular follower always left the most thoughtful comments, seeing beyond the surface of her videos to appreciate the cultural nuances she worked so hard to showcase.
"Your grace in that saree reminds me of the classical dancers at the Kapaleeshwarar temple," SilverFox77 had written. "The way you've paired the traditional dbanging with modern styling shows such respect for heritage while embracing the present."
Vanitha felt a warm glow spread through her chest. Selvam in the other bedroom posting comments as SilverFox77.
Vanitha's finger hovered over the comment. SilverFox77 had been following her for months now, his observations always striking a perfect balance between appreciation and respect. Unlike the flood of superficial compliments she received, his words seemed to truly see her—the intention behind her choices, the cultural statements woven into each dbang and fold.
She tapped the reply button, something she rarely did with followers.
"Thank you for noticing the temple dance inspiration," she typed. "It means so much when someone understands these little details."
She hesitated before adding: "Your comments always brighten my day."
Pressing send, Vanitha felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach. There was something comforting about this connection—this stranger who somehow made her feel less alone in a moment when everything familiar seemed suddenly complicated.
In the adjacent room, Selvam's phone pinged with a notification. His heart fluttered thinking she is messaging Vanitha who’s right next door in her bedroom.
She carefully uploaded the second video featuring a vibrant, intricately designed saree, allowing herself to sink into the solace of her creative ritual. As the video went live, a flurry of comments began to flood in, with viewers expressing their admiration and excitement. Yet, her mind drifted back to the small, dimly lit dressing room where she'd felt the electric tension in Selvam's gaze, and to the third video she had yet to unveil.
On that shopping trip, she had chosen three distinct pieces: two elegant sarees and a daring lehenga that challenged her comfort zone. She questioned whether she was intentionally holding back or merely biding her time for the perfect opportunity. This indecision gnawed at her, a reminder of the creeping doubt that had unsettled her previously steadfast confidence. Her finger hovered over the "post" button for the provocative lehenga video, which was unlike anything she had shared before. Its audacity reflected the same yearning she had seen in Selvam's eyes. The lehenga's crop top revealed her midriff, her navel, and a hint of cleavage, the dbangd fabric making a bold statement both inviting and assertive. She found herself wrestling with how much to disclose—not just in terms of fashion but in the underlying message of her intentions. She then decided it’s too revealing for the world to see, so she didn’t post it.
In the next room, Selvam wondered why the lehenga remained absent from her posts. Only he knew of its existence, watching with a mix of impatience and hope.
In a moment of unanticipated impulse, she picked up her phone and instead of posting the reel to the world, er eyes glinting with mischief she sent a private message to SilverFox77. She added a teasing message, the allure of the forbidden too tempting to resist. Her fingers hovered over the screen for an instant before she clicked send, dispatching the private missive to her most ardent observer. As the message sent, she felt a flutter of uncertainty in her chest, unsure herself of the intentions behind her actions.
And now the message was there, a notification that filled him with disbelief and triumph. "I bought this only for your eyes," it read, and with it, the video he thought she had abandoned. The lehenga, more revealing than anything before, was a testament to their unspoken connection.
The crop top clung tightly to her, revealing the smooth expanse of her midriff and the delicate curve of her navel, while the fabric dipped low, accentuating the swell of her cleavage. His gaze lingered on the boldness of her outfit, mirroring the surge of desire that coursed through him. He noticed the confident sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her smile, which left him both excited and on edge, captivated by the openness of her gesture.
Selvam was in disbelief; she had sent it directly to him as a private message. Watching her uninhibited performance ignited a fire within him, challenging his resolve. Was this intimate gesture real or imagined? The experience was both intoxicating and terrifying, shattering his boundaries and electrifying him, shaking the foundations of the roles he thought they played.
His body responded immediately, desire pulsing through him with a ferocity that left him both exhilarated and desperate for some semblance of control. His cock raised up, a powerful testament to the arousal he couldn't deny, no matter how hard he tried. He felt himself being pulled into a dangerous territory where the lines of propriety blurred with the rawness of his craving. How was he supposed to navigate this new reality where the woman he couldn't stop thinking about seemed to invite him deeper into a world of shared secrecy?
Despite the overwhelming urge to give in to the fantasy she offered, a part of him resisted. This was Vanitha—Ashok's wife, the girl who came to his home for shelter and support. A sense of moral duty fought against the tantalizing promise of her message, forcing him to reconsider how far he was willing to let this go. His head spun with the complexity of it all, the fantasy so tantalizingly close yet fraught with risk. Had she sent it knowing the turmoil it would cause him, or did she simply not realize the intensity of her impact?
With effort, Selvam controlled himself, the struggle between his desires and his principles as intense as the jolt of arousal that now coursed through his veins. He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of restraint to act with the respect he knew she deserved. Her message was not just a tantalizing tease but a test of his self-control and his ability to maintain the delicate balance of their newfound relationship. He forced himself to sleep, though not before carefully composing a reply.
He knew he had to respond to her with the thoughtful appreciation she'd come to expect from SilverFox77. Anything less might betray the turmoil her video had ignited. His fingers moved over the screen, crafting a message that showed his admiration without overstepping the fragile boundary between them.
"Your boldness is unmatched," he wrote, making sure each word conveyed the depth of his feelings while maintaining the respectful tone she had come to recognize. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I am honored." He hesitated before sending it, hoping she would understand the layers of meaning his words attempted to convey.
Exhaling deeply, he tapped the send button, dispatching the message into the night. Would this be enough to maintain the connection without tipping them into chaos? He hoped so, even as his mind raced with the implications. His thoughts lingered on the vivid image of her in the Lehenga, and he drifted into a restless sleep filled with dreams that left him yearning and hopeful.
The message caused Vanitha to feel a sense of triumph. She went to sleep peacefully.
Her Insta is @radiant_vanitha
See Tharun's action in this story How I fucked a homely girl and a modern slut at work
See Tharun's action in this story How I fucked a homely girl and a modern slut at work
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