30-03-2025, 04:54 AM
(This post was last modified: 30-03-2025, 04:56 AM by adams_masala. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 20: Selvam vs SilverFox77
Next day morning sun rises.
The sun stretches out across Selvam’s bed room, a gentle and knowing sunray’s hand that finds its way across Selvam’s body. It reaches the insistent rise of his cock, a fierce and glorious declaration of morning wood.
Selvam is still deep asleep but his cock had woken up before him. There’s no hiding the taut press of his erection, the outline crisp and unconcealed, each vein and line and inch of him illuminated by that early light.
In this hour, the world still whispers with the calm of waking. His chest rises and falls with the slow rhythm of sleep, a contented sigh passing through his lips. His skin holds the warmth of the sheets, relaxed against the soft white cotton that barely dbangs him. His strong physique tells the story of dedication, every muscle drawn out by the trickling dawn, each curve a testament to discipline. The journey of light across his body finds its final destination at his waist, where the sheet gives way to reveal the proud shape of his arousal.
It thrusts forward, an arching statement against the morning stillness. His erection is the quiet, persistent language of his body, a hard and unwavering expression that stands out stark against the sheets. There's a magnetism to it, a fierce and unhidden power in how the length of his cock demands the room’s attention, the thin cover unable to shield even an inch of it from view.
With each passing moment, the sun’s fingers reach deeper into the room, the angles sharper, the light more revealing. His erection is more than just a silhouette; it’s a striking portrait. The head of his cock is defined, every line precise against the curve of fabric. Along its impressive length, the pulsing trails of veins appear like rivers cutting through terrain, every inch vibrant and alive. There’s a girth to it, a solid and weighty presence that only adds to the boldness of its exposure.
A small birthmark sits near the base, a personal signature on this bold work of flesh. It's the kind of mark that's unmistakable, an identity all its own that makes this morning wood uniquely his. The way it’s set against his shaft only emphasizes the fullness of the picture—one man’s distinctive and undeniable arousal, captured in the simplicity of this early light.
The testosterone surging through him at this hour makes his cock the flag bearer of a new day, the firmness and persistence a sign of both his vitality and masculinity.
His mind flutters at the boundary between dream and wakefulness, not yet fully aware, still dancing in the vivid colors of REM sleep. He shifts slightly, and the movement seems to coax his erection to even greater strength. There’s no shyness to this, no need to conceal. It’s morning wood, pure and simple, the sheet resting against it so lightly that it might as well not be there.
The room has no secrets to keep. Selvam’s arousal is laid bare, a statement made not with words but with the most natural expression of flesh. The early sun stays soft, a warm companion to the curves and lines of his body, painting every part of him with quiet admiration. The details of him stand out like truths, undisguised and unapologetic, as he lies at rest. In the unmoving quiet of dawn, the confident salute of his morning wood is as simple and honest as the sun itself.
In the same moment, in Vanitha’s bedroom. The early light moves slowly into Vanitha’s room, tracing its way along the floor and up onto the bed. It casts a glow onto her face, lit by the blue glow of her phone screen. Her fingers scroll past the images she's looked at a hundred times, her own saree photos, but each glimpse makes her gasp and squirm. After passing all her pictures suddenly the dick pics!!
She holds the phone close, her breath shallow and quick. The first image stops her. It's SilverFox77’s cock, taken with confidence and intent. The picture fills her screen, the shaft bold and detailed, standing proud in a way that makes her cheeks flush. Her thumb brushes the glass, enlarging the view. Every line, every curve of that rigid shape makes her heart race and her skin tingle.
There’s a heat beneath her skin, an excitement she doesn’t try to suppress. The second image follows, then a third. Each is more daring than the last. Her eyes devour the way the veins snake along the hard length, the intimate detail of its girth, the birthmark a daring mark near the base. She shivers as she stares, forgetting to breathe until the photos blur.
Her body feels electric, the light in the room growing with her need. She collapses back against the pillows, a soft moan escaping her lips as the phone slips from her hands. The screen shifts back to her photo roll, flicking quickly past pictures of her in bright pageant smiles and poised poses. She holds her breath as the images from SilverFox77 come up again, her thumb landing back on them like a moth to flame.
Vanitha is a picture of poise, a study of elegance and self-control. But here, alone and with dawn breaking, she lets the guarded walls fall away. She trembles as she looks again at the photos she can’t bring herself to delete, that she can’t look at without feeling breathless and undone.
The light is brighter now, chasing shadows into corners. She knows she should get up, should join Selvam and keep up the orderly routine of breakfast and small talk.
But desire has its hold on her. She’s more alive than ever when she looks at the pictures and feels the pull of every taboo emotion. It’s wrong, maybe, but thrillingly so. She closes her eyes and sees the images burned against her lids, feels a modern excitement chasing away her traditional resolve. Her hands fall to her sides, her heart racing against her ribs.
As light fills the room, she opens her eyes, expecting to see Selvam in the kitchen already. It’s unlike him to break from his habits. She sits up, pushing away the blanket and letting a more disciplined part of herself take over. But even then, her eyes flick back to her phone. SilverFox77 has made her feel more than she thought she could. He’s made her feel raw and open, everything a whirlwind inside.
Vanitha rises, straightening her saree with practiced fingers, moving from bed to floor with the grace of a beauty queen but with a mind tangled in chaos. She waits a moment, expecting to hear Selvam’s footsteps in the living room. It should smell of breakfast, of the traditional meals he insists on making, of the rich aroma of spiced chai. She finds herself both disappointed and curious, there is no sign of Selvam.
There’s a quickness to her step as she leaves her room, crossing the hall and finding the living room empty.
She stands there, the morning now fully arrived, washing her in both light and confusion. Her traditional values say she should worry about him. Her modern heart, so recently exposed and reckless, aches to know more.
“Uncle?” Her voice is soft, questioning, echoing against the bare walls. Silence answers her, adding to the building tension, the fever of want and uncertainty mixing into something heady and unavoidable. He’s always there for her, waiting with a smile and an indulgent breakfast, always present like the dawn itself.
She hesitates, glancing once more at the empty room. Her hands shake with the intensity of it all, with a desire she can barely understand. The phone is still in her grasp, the light from it dim against the broader light of the day.
With a breath that shudders into her lungs, Vanitha decides. Her feet carry her toward the one place she hasn’t looked. With each step, the excitement in her grows, a river fed by longing and curiosity and the relentless tug of her emotions.
Vanitha approaches, Selvam’s bedroom. The door is slightly cracked open, enough for her to see his body sprawled across the bed.
His cock! Her father figure’s morning wood greets and rises bold against the sheets, turning the gentle light into an act of worship.
Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat loud and desperate. She hesitates at the threshold, her breath catching as her eyes take in the sight. It is a shock—a sharp intake of air, a frozen moment where everything inside her stops.
Selvam is still in deep sleep. But his morning wood is firm and unapologetic, jutting upwards in the early light. The thin sheet does nothing to cover it. Her gaze fixates on the length and hardness of his shaft, the clarity of it leaving her dizzy with an impossible familiarity.
Vanitha doesn’t mean to stare, but the scene holds her captive. It is both obscene and captivating, the room turned into a shrine to his erection. His cock is a force of nature, veins running like vines along its solid length, girth thick and demanding.
She’s embarrassed, it’s her father-in-law, but the cock head veiled in his foreskin The birthmark near the base is stark against the paler skin, a brand that marks the hard truth she can barely bring herself to face.
Just then she felt a pit in her stomach, those strong viens that curious cock head trying to peak.. all.. look to familiar. She’s seen this cock before. Her chest heaving she kept thinking, where have I seen this cock!!
She feels as though she’s dreaming, but the raw detail makes it too real. It’s all exactly like the photos. She stumbles back a step, the creak of the floor almost enough to break the spell. But she cannot tear her eyes away. The unmistakable shape, the impossible similarities—it all rushes at her, crashes into her with breathtaking clarity. It’s his cock, the SilverFox77. Is SilverFox77 and Selvam are the same??
It makes no sense, but it is undeniable. She stands at the door, heart a wild and erratic drumbeat. Desire and disbelief coil together, a feverish mix that leaves her trembling and lightheaded. How could she not have known? How could she not have seen? But now it is right before her, every detail shouting the truth in bold strokes.
Her phone seems to burn in her hand, the images on it and the reality here an overwhelming match. Vanitha’s eyes blur with the shock of it, her traditional upbringing clashing with the wild, untamed thrill that this new knowledge brings. He is a father figure to her, but here, now, he is something so much more illicit and alluring. She is an intruder in his space, a voyeur to his unknowing exhibition.
Her breath is ragged, catching in her throat as the impact of this realization surges through her. Selvam’s body remains a silent proclamation of everything she both wants and fears. He is so close, and yet she feels worlds apart from him. Her hand grips the phone tighter, the edge of the doorframe digging into her palm as she crouches, trying to catch her breath and her sanity.
She knows she should go. Every instinct screams at her to leave, to run before she loses herself completely to this chaotic longing. But she cannot make herself move, can’t pull away from the way the light caresses him, the way he lies so peacefully while she is a storm inside.
With an effort that nearly breaks her, Vanitha takes one last, lingering look. Her gaze sweeps over the birthmark, the veins, the strong and pulsing lines that are so achingly familiar. She memorizes them all, each part of him now etched onto her heart as deeply as it is burned into her phone.
She rises, every step away from him heavy and reluctant, every part of her wanting nothing more than to stay and let the consequences of this shocking truth consume her. The door swings gently on its hinges, whispering shut behind her, the sound loud in the otherwise still house.
In the hallway, she leans against the wall, fighting for composure. Her breath comes fast and shallow, her skin tingling with adrenaline and arousal. This changes everything. This turns her world inside out. But beneath the shock, beneath the dizzying awareness of what she’s seen and what it means, lies the simmering heat of knowing that his cock—the same one that makes her quiver with need—is so intimately hers to admire.
With legs weak and heart still racing, Vanitha retreats further. Her world is now divided into before and after, the images of this morning playing over and over in her mind. More intense, more vivid than she ever imagined. The truth of it too raw and too thrilling to ever forget.
Vanitha crouches beside the doorframe, the details of him imprinted on her eyes. She sees everything with searing clarity. She isn’t sure if her heart can bear it, if her mind can understand it. She grabs her phone to see if her eyes deceived her, if the cock she longs for is really his.
Her hands are trembling as she swipes past the tamer images, the soft blue glow of the phone the only light against the morning now raging bright outside. It doesn’t take long. The photos fill the screen, each one an echo of what she’s just witnessed. Her pulse quickens, heat racing up her spine as confirmation crashes over her.
With each swipe, her body grows more alive, more attuned to the shocking reality. There it is—the strong length, the intricate web of veins, the girth so bold it takes her breath away. There is no doubt. Selvam's cock and SilverFox77’s are one and the same, and the realization leaves her both scared and unbearably excited.
Vanitha presses her hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to escape. Her emotions spin wildly, tangling into knots she cannot untie. He’s supposed to be a father figure, a mentor. But now, he’s so much more. She wants to collapse with the weight of it, the thrill that shoots through her, the way her body responds to the forbidden, secret knowledge.
Each second feels endless as she kneels there, unable to move, unable to look away. The light catches the edge of the phone, sparking against her thumb as she taps through the images again, needing to be sure, needing to feel the rush of it over and over. The knowledge burns inside her, fanning desire and confusion into a fierce, consuming flame.
She draws a shaky breath, her heart in free fall. The man she thought she only knew online, the man who made her forget all her inhibitions, is right here in this house. He’s always been right here, and she’s been blind to it. The thought is dizzying, thrillingly forbidden.
The images on her phone blur, and she squeezes her eyes shut, tries to calm the erratic beat of her pulse. The knowledge feels heavy, dangerous, but she knows she won’t let it go. She won’t delete it from her life any more than she’ll delete the pictures. This is hers now, a secret that she’ll guard fiercely, a secret that promises more than she’s ever dared to dream.
Finally, Vanitha rises. Her legs are unsteady beneath her, but her mind is sharp with decision. She retreats down the hallway, the phone clutched tightly to her chest like a talisman, every step away from his room feeling like a betrayal to the longing inside her.
Back in the safety of her own room, she collapses onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, the images and the reality flickering through her mind. She should feel guilt, but it’s drowned by a tide of want, of need, of a wild, heady hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be more than a secret.
The light spills across her, softer now as the morning matures, casting her in a warm glow that mirrors the heat inside her. She lies there, replaying the moment she first saw him, the disbelief giving way to a daring certainty that she won’t walk away from.
Vanitha closes her eyes, the silhouette of his cock a brand against her thoughts.
Maybe she can have it all. She decides to keep this a secret and see where it leads. Maybe Selvam will stay asleep enough to let her indulge again. Her lips curl into a small, secretive smile, and she knows she won’t delete anything—not the pictures, not the memory, not the hope.
She is left with the weight of desire, with the thrilling uncertainty of what will come next. Vanitha stays in bed, heart still pounding, mind racing, knowing that the morning will never be the same. The chance to see Selvam’s cock again is a thought both terrifying and exhilarating, and she cradles it close, wondering if this was her only opportunity, or just the beginning. She waited for her uncle in the living room.
Next day morning sun rises.
The sun stretches out across Selvam’s bed room, a gentle and knowing sunray’s hand that finds its way across Selvam’s body. It reaches the insistent rise of his cock, a fierce and glorious declaration of morning wood.
Selvam is still deep asleep but his cock had woken up before him. There’s no hiding the taut press of his erection, the outline crisp and unconcealed, each vein and line and inch of him illuminated by that early light.
In this hour, the world still whispers with the calm of waking. His chest rises and falls with the slow rhythm of sleep, a contented sigh passing through his lips. His skin holds the warmth of the sheets, relaxed against the soft white cotton that barely dbangs him. His strong physique tells the story of dedication, every muscle drawn out by the trickling dawn, each curve a testament to discipline. The journey of light across his body finds its final destination at his waist, where the sheet gives way to reveal the proud shape of his arousal.
It thrusts forward, an arching statement against the morning stillness. His erection is the quiet, persistent language of his body, a hard and unwavering expression that stands out stark against the sheets. There's a magnetism to it, a fierce and unhidden power in how the length of his cock demands the room’s attention, the thin cover unable to shield even an inch of it from view.
With each passing moment, the sun’s fingers reach deeper into the room, the angles sharper, the light more revealing. His erection is more than just a silhouette; it’s a striking portrait. The head of his cock is defined, every line precise against the curve of fabric. Along its impressive length, the pulsing trails of veins appear like rivers cutting through terrain, every inch vibrant and alive. There’s a girth to it, a solid and weighty presence that only adds to the boldness of its exposure.
A small birthmark sits near the base, a personal signature on this bold work of flesh. It's the kind of mark that's unmistakable, an identity all its own that makes this morning wood uniquely his. The way it’s set against his shaft only emphasizes the fullness of the picture—one man’s distinctive and undeniable arousal, captured in the simplicity of this early light.
The testosterone surging through him at this hour makes his cock the flag bearer of a new day, the firmness and persistence a sign of both his vitality and masculinity.
His mind flutters at the boundary between dream and wakefulness, not yet fully aware, still dancing in the vivid colors of REM sleep. He shifts slightly, and the movement seems to coax his erection to even greater strength. There’s no shyness to this, no need to conceal. It’s morning wood, pure and simple, the sheet resting against it so lightly that it might as well not be there.
The room has no secrets to keep. Selvam’s arousal is laid bare, a statement made not with words but with the most natural expression of flesh. The early sun stays soft, a warm companion to the curves and lines of his body, painting every part of him with quiet admiration. The details of him stand out like truths, undisguised and unapologetic, as he lies at rest. In the unmoving quiet of dawn, the confident salute of his morning wood is as simple and honest as the sun itself.
In the same moment, in Vanitha’s bedroom. The early light moves slowly into Vanitha’s room, tracing its way along the floor and up onto the bed. It casts a glow onto her face, lit by the blue glow of her phone screen. Her fingers scroll past the images she's looked at a hundred times, her own saree photos, but each glimpse makes her gasp and squirm. After passing all her pictures suddenly the dick pics!!
She holds the phone close, her breath shallow and quick. The first image stops her. It's SilverFox77’s cock, taken with confidence and intent. The picture fills her screen, the shaft bold and detailed, standing proud in a way that makes her cheeks flush. Her thumb brushes the glass, enlarging the view. Every line, every curve of that rigid shape makes her heart race and her skin tingle.
There’s a heat beneath her skin, an excitement she doesn’t try to suppress. The second image follows, then a third. Each is more daring than the last. Her eyes devour the way the veins snake along the hard length, the intimate detail of its girth, the birthmark a daring mark near the base. She shivers as she stares, forgetting to breathe until the photos blur.
Her body feels electric, the light in the room growing with her need. She collapses back against the pillows, a soft moan escaping her lips as the phone slips from her hands. The screen shifts back to her photo roll, flicking quickly past pictures of her in bright pageant smiles and poised poses. She holds her breath as the images from SilverFox77 come up again, her thumb landing back on them like a moth to flame.
Vanitha is a picture of poise, a study of elegance and self-control. But here, alone and with dawn breaking, she lets the guarded walls fall away. She trembles as she looks again at the photos she can’t bring herself to delete, that she can’t look at without feeling breathless and undone.
The light is brighter now, chasing shadows into corners. She knows she should get up, should join Selvam and keep up the orderly routine of breakfast and small talk.
But desire has its hold on her. She’s more alive than ever when she looks at the pictures and feels the pull of every taboo emotion. It’s wrong, maybe, but thrillingly so. She closes her eyes and sees the images burned against her lids, feels a modern excitement chasing away her traditional resolve. Her hands fall to her sides, her heart racing against her ribs.
As light fills the room, she opens her eyes, expecting to see Selvam in the kitchen already. It’s unlike him to break from his habits. She sits up, pushing away the blanket and letting a more disciplined part of herself take over. But even then, her eyes flick back to her phone. SilverFox77 has made her feel more than she thought she could. He’s made her feel raw and open, everything a whirlwind inside.
Vanitha rises, straightening her saree with practiced fingers, moving from bed to floor with the grace of a beauty queen but with a mind tangled in chaos. She waits a moment, expecting to hear Selvam’s footsteps in the living room. It should smell of breakfast, of the traditional meals he insists on making, of the rich aroma of spiced chai. She finds herself both disappointed and curious, there is no sign of Selvam.
There’s a quickness to her step as she leaves her room, crossing the hall and finding the living room empty.
She stands there, the morning now fully arrived, washing her in both light and confusion. Her traditional values say she should worry about him. Her modern heart, so recently exposed and reckless, aches to know more.
“Uncle?” Her voice is soft, questioning, echoing against the bare walls. Silence answers her, adding to the building tension, the fever of want and uncertainty mixing into something heady and unavoidable. He’s always there for her, waiting with a smile and an indulgent breakfast, always present like the dawn itself.
She hesitates, glancing once more at the empty room. Her hands shake with the intensity of it all, with a desire she can barely understand. The phone is still in her grasp, the light from it dim against the broader light of the day.
With a breath that shudders into her lungs, Vanitha decides. Her feet carry her toward the one place she hasn’t looked. With each step, the excitement in her grows, a river fed by longing and curiosity and the relentless tug of her emotions.
Vanitha approaches, Selvam’s bedroom. The door is slightly cracked open, enough for her to see his body sprawled across the bed.
His cock! Her father figure’s morning wood greets and rises bold against the sheets, turning the gentle light into an act of worship.
Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat loud and desperate. She hesitates at the threshold, her breath catching as her eyes take in the sight. It is a shock—a sharp intake of air, a frozen moment where everything inside her stops.
Selvam is still in deep sleep. But his morning wood is firm and unapologetic, jutting upwards in the early light. The thin sheet does nothing to cover it. Her gaze fixates on the length and hardness of his shaft, the clarity of it leaving her dizzy with an impossible familiarity.
Vanitha doesn’t mean to stare, but the scene holds her captive. It is both obscene and captivating, the room turned into a shrine to his erection. His cock is a force of nature, veins running like vines along its solid length, girth thick and demanding.
She’s embarrassed, it’s her father-in-law, but the cock head veiled in his foreskin The birthmark near the base is stark against the paler skin, a brand that marks the hard truth she can barely bring herself to face.
Just then she felt a pit in her stomach, those strong viens that curious cock head trying to peak.. all.. look to familiar. She’s seen this cock before. Her chest heaving she kept thinking, where have I seen this cock!!
She feels as though she’s dreaming, but the raw detail makes it too real. It’s all exactly like the photos. She stumbles back a step, the creak of the floor almost enough to break the spell. But she cannot tear her eyes away. The unmistakable shape, the impossible similarities—it all rushes at her, crashes into her with breathtaking clarity. It’s his cock, the SilverFox77. Is SilverFox77 and Selvam are the same??
It makes no sense, but it is undeniable. She stands at the door, heart a wild and erratic drumbeat. Desire and disbelief coil together, a feverish mix that leaves her trembling and lightheaded. How could she not have known? How could she not have seen? But now it is right before her, every detail shouting the truth in bold strokes.
Her phone seems to burn in her hand, the images on it and the reality here an overwhelming match. Vanitha’s eyes blur with the shock of it, her traditional upbringing clashing with the wild, untamed thrill that this new knowledge brings. He is a father figure to her, but here, now, he is something so much more illicit and alluring. She is an intruder in his space, a voyeur to his unknowing exhibition.
Her breath is ragged, catching in her throat as the impact of this realization surges through her. Selvam’s body remains a silent proclamation of everything she both wants and fears. He is so close, and yet she feels worlds apart from him. Her hand grips the phone tighter, the edge of the doorframe digging into her palm as she crouches, trying to catch her breath and her sanity.
She knows she should go. Every instinct screams at her to leave, to run before she loses herself completely to this chaotic longing. But she cannot make herself move, can’t pull away from the way the light caresses him, the way he lies so peacefully while she is a storm inside.
With an effort that nearly breaks her, Vanitha takes one last, lingering look. Her gaze sweeps over the birthmark, the veins, the strong and pulsing lines that are so achingly familiar. She memorizes them all, each part of him now etched onto her heart as deeply as it is burned into her phone.
She rises, every step away from him heavy and reluctant, every part of her wanting nothing more than to stay and let the consequences of this shocking truth consume her. The door swings gently on its hinges, whispering shut behind her, the sound loud in the otherwise still house.
In the hallway, she leans against the wall, fighting for composure. Her breath comes fast and shallow, her skin tingling with adrenaline and arousal. This changes everything. This turns her world inside out. But beneath the shock, beneath the dizzying awareness of what she’s seen and what it means, lies the simmering heat of knowing that his cock—the same one that makes her quiver with need—is so intimately hers to admire.
With legs weak and heart still racing, Vanitha retreats further. Her world is now divided into before and after, the images of this morning playing over and over in her mind. More intense, more vivid than she ever imagined. The truth of it too raw and too thrilling to ever forget.
Vanitha crouches beside the doorframe, the details of him imprinted on her eyes. She sees everything with searing clarity. She isn’t sure if her heart can bear it, if her mind can understand it. She grabs her phone to see if her eyes deceived her, if the cock she longs for is really his.
Her hands are trembling as she swipes past the tamer images, the soft blue glow of the phone the only light against the morning now raging bright outside. It doesn’t take long. The photos fill the screen, each one an echo of what she’s just witnessed. Her pulse quickens, heat racing up her spine as confirmation crashes over her.
With each swipe, her body grows more alive, more attuned to the shocking reality. There it is—the strong length, the intricate web of veins, the girth so bold it takes her breath away. There is no doubt. Selvam's cock and SilverFox77’s are one and the same, and the realization leaves her both scared and unbearably excited.
Vanitha presses her hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to escape. Her emotions spin wildly, tangling into knots she cannot untie. He’s supposed to be a father figure, a mentor. But now, he’s so much more. She wants to collapse with the weight of it, the thrill that shoots through her, the way her body responds to the forbidden, secret knowledge.
Each second feels endless as she kneels there, unable to move, unable to look away. The light catches the edge of the phone, sparking against her thumb as she taps through the images again, needing to be sure, needing to feel the rush of it over and over. The knowledge burns inside her, fanning desire and confusion into a fierce, consuming flame.
She draws a shaky breath, her heart in free fall. The man she thought she only knew online, the man who made her forget all her inhibitions, is right here in this house. He’s always been right here, and she’s been blind to it. The thought is dizzying, thrillingly forbidden.
The images on her phone blur, and she squeezes her eyes shut, tries to calm the erratic beat of her pulse. The knowledge feels heavy, dangerous, but she knows she won’t let it go. She won’t delete it from her life any more than she’ll delete the pictures. This is hers now, a secret that she’ll guard fiercely, a secret that promises more than she’s ever dared to dream.
Finally, Vanitha rises. Her legs are unsteady beneath her, but her mind is sharp with decision. She retreats down the hallway, the phone clutched tightly to her chest like a talisman, every step away from his room feeling like a betrayal to the longing inside her.
Back in the safety of her own room, she collapses onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, the images and the reality flickering through her mind. She should feel guilt, but it’s drowned by a tide of want, of need, of a wild, heady hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be more than a secret.
The light spills across her, softer now as the morning matures, casting her in a warm glow that mirrors the heat inside her. She lies there, replaying the moment she first saw him, the disbelief giving way to a daring certainty that she won’t walk away from.
Vanitha closes her eyes, the silhouette of his cock a brand against her thoughts.
Maybe she can have it all. She decides to keep this a secret and see where it leads. Maybe Selvam will stay asleep enough to let her indulge again. Her lips curl into a small, secretive smile, and she knows she won’t delete anything—not the pictures, not the memory, not the hope.
She is left with the weight of desire, with the thrilling uncertainty of what will come next. Vanitha stays in bed, heart still pounding, mind racing, knowing that the morning will never be the same. The chance to see Selvam’s cock again is a thought both terrifying and exhilarating, and she cradles it close, wondering if this was her only opportunity, or just the beginning. She waited for her uncle in the living room.
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
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)