03-05-2025, 03:20 PM
"Are you looking for your thaali, mama?" Vanitha asked, her voice a teasing whisper as she rose before him. She made no move to adjust the pendant or her blouse, instead allowing his gaze to linger. "Or perhaps something else has caught your attention?"
Before he lost control he grabbed he grabbed one of the milk glasses.
"Drink," he instructed, lifting one of the brass tumblers from the tray and bringing it to her lips.
Vanitha parted her lips, accepting the warm, sweet liquid. A droplet escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin. Before it could fall, Selvam caught it with his thumb, his touch lingering against her skin. The simple contact sent sparks racing through her body, igniting a heat that pooled low in her abdomen.
When she had finished, Vanitha took the second tumbler and raised it to Selvam's lips, mirroring his actions with the same reverance.
“Mama, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, dear”
"Do you still think of me as your daughter-in-law when you look at me like that?" Vanitha asked, her voice dipping into a sultry register as she traced the rim of the brass tumbler with her fingertip.
Selvam's breath caught audibly. The directness of her question—naming the taboo they were dancing around—sent heat coursing through his veins.
"Vanitha..." he started, his voice hoarse with desire and conflict.
"Answer me, mama," she insisted, leaning closer until he could feel her warm breath against his ear. "When you watch me bend over in the kitchen, when you stare at my waist as I walk past you, do you remember that I'm married to your son?"
Selvam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The traditional milk glass trembled slightly in his grip.
"No,"
“When you watched my instagram reels, wearing my low hip saree? Tell me Mama.”
"Never," Selvam admitted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "In those moments, you are simply a woman—the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
The confession hung between them, heavy with implications. Vanitha's lips curved into a satisfied smile as she took the empty tumbler from his hands, placing it beside its twin on the silver tray.
"And now?" she pressed, her fingers moving to the first hook of her blouse. "With your athai’s thaali around my neck, am I still your daughter-in-law?"
Selvam's eyes tracked the movement of her fingers, his breath becoming shallow as she toyed with the ornate hook without unfastening it. The red silk strained against her curves, the gap between each closure revealing tantalizing glimpses of bare skin.
"No," he said, with newfound conviction. "You are my bride."
He pulled her close “let me look at you”
He saw her exposed midriff, his eyes lingered on the exposed strip of golden-pink skin, the waist chain glinting in the soft light, its pendant dangling provocatively just above the low-slung saree. The midriff he admired so many times on instagram is no finally in his arms reach.
Selvam's fingertips traced the delicate gold chain encircling Vanitha's waist, following its path across her bare midriff with reverent attention. The cool metal warmed beneath his touch as he explored the contours of her body, memorizing each curve and plane as if mapping sacred territory. When his fingers reached the lotus pendant, he paused, letting it rest in his palm like a precious offering.
"I've dreamed of touching you here," he confessed, his voice a low rumble that sent vibrations through her skin. "Every time you stretched during your saree video reels, every saree you wore that revealed this..." His thumb caressed the soft depression of her navel, circling it with deliberate slowness.
Vanitha's breath hitched, her abdomen contracting slightly under his exploration. The simple touch ignited nerve endings she never knew existed, sending cascades of sensation radiating outward.
The deliberate arrangement—traditional yet subversive—spoke volumes about her intentions. The fabric of her saree was dbangd lower than custom dictated, revealing more of her navel than would be considered proper, especially before an elder.
Yet there was nothing proper about this night.
"Is it too much?" Vanitha asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath its seduction. Her fingers fluttered nervously at the edge of her pallu, adjusting it slightly over her shoulder.
"No," Selvam answered, his voice a deep rumble that she felt more than heard. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
The traditional oddiyanam was both an ornament and an invitation, drawing his gaze downward along the gentle curve of her abdomen.
He paused and his hands hovered in hesitation.
Vanitha's breath caught in her throat. The intensity of his gaze made her feel both vulnerable and powerful—exposed yet worshipped. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the whisper of the oil lamp's flame.
"Permission," Selvam repeated, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Even now, at this moment of crossing, I need to hear you say it."
Vanitha's heart swelled at his restraint, at the respect embedded in his desire. Here was the difference she had always craved—a man who understood the sanctity of consent, the power of invitation. She reached for his hovering hand and pressed it firmly against her bare midriff, the heat of his palm searing against her skin.
"Touch me," she whispered, the words both command and supplication. "I am yours tonight, by my choice, by my will."
The moment his fingers made contact with her skin, something shifted in Selvam's demeanor. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a possessive certainty that darkened his eyes. His palm spread across her abdomen, fingers splaying to claim as much territory as possible. His thumb dipped into her navel, circling the sensitive depression with deliberate slowness.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to touch you like this?" he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her core. "To feel your skin beneath my fingers without pretense or shame?"
Vanitha's eyelids fluttered, her lips parting as a soft sigh escaped them. "Tell me," she urged, her body arching subtly into his touch.
"Since the first moment I saw you in this saree," Selvam confessed, his hand traveling upward along her ribcage, fingers tracing the delicate bones beneath her skin. "You were standing beside my son, radiant as a goddess, and I felt something I shouldn't have felt. Something I buried deep inside me, until—"
"Until SilverFox77 found me," Vanitha finished for him, her voice breathless. "Until you started leaving those comments on my Instagram, until you began to see me as a woman, not just your son's wife."
Selvam's hand continued its exploration, traveling upward until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast where it swelled above the low neckline of her blouse. "I tried to resist," he admitted, his thumb tracing the edge of the silken fabric. "Every message I sent was both transgression and relief. Each night, I told myself it would be the last time."
"But you couldn't stop," Vanitha whispered, her body trembling beneath his touch. "Just as I couldn't stop responding."
"No, I couldn't," Selvam admitted, his fingers now tracing the edge of her pallu where it dbangd across her shoulder. "And now I don't want to stop."
With deliberate slowness, his fingers curled around the crimson silk of her pallu. The fabric was cool to the touch, yet seemed to burn against his fingertips as he began to lift it. The weight of tradition, of taboo, of everything forbidden between them hung in that single piece of fabric as he gently tugged it away from her shoulder.
The pallu resisted for a moment, caught on the curve of her breast, before surrendering to his pull. Like a curtain rising on a sacred performance, the silk slid downward in a whispered cascade, revealing her body to him inch by exquisite inch. First the graceful slope of her shoulder, then the delicate collarbone with its hollow that seemed designed for his lips. The thaali gleamed against her skin, nestled between her breasts as if it had always belonged there.
The red blouse hugged her torso, the small hooks straining against the fullness of her breasts. Each breath she took caused the fabric to tighten, revealing the outline of her nipples pressing against the silk. Selvam's gaze traveled down the length of her exposed arm, noting the goosebumps that rose in the wake of his stare.
"Beautiful," he whispered, the word a prayer on his lips. His fingertips traced the edge of her blouse where it met her skin, a touch so light it might have been imagined. "More beautiful than I dared to dream."
Vanitha trembled under his gaze, feeling exposed in a way that transcended the physical. It wasn't just her body being revealed, but her
desires, her needs, her most secret fantasies. The careful planning, the meticulous arrangement of every detail—all of it laid bare before him like an offering.
Selvam reached for her, his large hands encircling her slender neck, fingers pressing gently against her pulse points where her life force thrummed beneath his touch. With tender urgency, he pulled her toward him, eliminating the last whisper of space between them. His thumbs traced the delicate line of her jaw as he tilted her face upward to meet his descending mouth.
Before he lost control he grabbed he grabbed one of the milk glasses.
"Drink," he instructed, lifting one of the brass tumblers from the tray and bringing it to her lips.
Vanitha parted her lips, accepting the warm, sweet liquid. A droplet escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin. Before it could fall, Selvam caught it with his thumb, his touch lingering against her skin. The simple contact sent sparks racing through her body, igniting a heat that pooled low in her abdomen.
When she had finished, Vanitha took the second tumbler and raised it to Selvam's lips, mirroring his actions with the same reverance.
“Mama, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, dear”
"Do you still think of me as your daughter-in-law when you look at me like that?" Vanitha asked, her voice dipping into a sultry register as she traced the rim of the brass tumbler with her fingertip.
Selvam's breath caught audibly. The directness of her question—naming the taboo they were dancing around—sent heat coursing through his veins.
"Vanitha..." he started, his voice hoarse with desire and conflict.
"Answer me, mama," she insisted, leaning closer until he could feel her warm breath against his ear. "When you watch me bend over in the kitchen, when you stare at my waist as I walk past you, do you remember that I'm married to your son?"
Selvam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The traditional milk glass trembled slightly in his grip.
"No,"
“When you watched my instagram reels, wearing my low hip saree? Tell me Mama.”
"Never," Selvam admitted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "In those moments, you are simply a woman—the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
The confession hung between them, heavy with implications. Vanitha's lips curved into a satisfied smile as she took the empty tumbler from his hands, placing it beside its twin on the silver tray.
"And now?" she pressed, her fingers moving to the first hook of her blouse. "With your athai’s thaali around my neck, am I still your daughter-in-law?"
Selvam's eyes tracked the movement of her fingers, his breath becoming shallow as she toyed with the ornate hook without unfastening it. The red silk strained against her curves, the gap between each closure revealing tantalizing glimpses of bare skin.
"No," he said, with newfound conviction. "You are my bride."
He pulled her close “let me look at you”
He saw her exposed midriff, his eyes lingered on the exposed strip of golden-pink skin, the waist chain glinting in the soft light, its pendant dangling provocatively just above the low-slung saree. The midriff he admired so many times on instagram is no finally in his arms reach.
Selvam's fingertips traced the delicate gold chain encircling Vanitha's waist, following its path across her bare midriff with reverent attention. The cool metal warmed beneath his touch as he explored the contours of her body, memorizing each curve and plane as if mapping sacred territory. When his fingers reached the lotus pendant, he paused, letting it rest in his palm like a precious offering.
"I've dreamed of touching you here," he confessed, his voice a low rumble that sent vibrations through her skin. "Every time you stretched during your saree video reels, every saree you wore that revealed this..." His thumb caressed the soft depression of her navel, circling it with deliberate slowness.
Vanitha's breath hitched, her abdomen contracting slightly under his exploration. The simple touch ignited nerve endings she never knew existed, sending cascades of sensation radiating outward.
The deliberate arrangement—traditional yet subversive—spoke volumes about her intentions. The fabric of her saree was dbangd lower than custom dictated, revealing more of her navel than would be considered proper, especially before an elder.
Yet there was nothing proper about this night.
"Is it too much?" Vanitha asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath its seduction. Her fingers fluttered nervously at the edge of her pallu, adjusting it slightly over her shoulder.
"No," Selvam answered, his voice a deep rumble that she felt more than heard. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
The traditional oddiyanam was both an ornament and an invitation, drawing his gaze downward along the gentle curve of her abdomen.
He paused and his hands hovered in hesitation.
Vanitha's breath caught in her throat. The intensity of his gaze made her feel both vulnerable and powerful—exposed yet worshipped. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the whisper of the oil lamp's flame.
"Permission," Selvam repeated, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Even now, at this moment of crossing, I need to hear you say it."
Vanitha's heart swelled at his restraint, at the respect embedded in his desire. Here was the difference she had always craved—a man who understood the sanctity of consent, the power of invitation. She reached for his hovering hand and pressed it firmly against her bare midriff, the heat of his palm searing against her skin.
"Touch me," she whispered, the words both command and supplication. "I am yours tonight, by my choice, by my will."
The moment his fingers made contact with her skin, something shifted in Selvam's demeanor. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a possessive certainty that darkened his eyes. His palm spread across her abdomen, fingers splaying to claim as much territory as possible. His thumb dipped into her navel, circling the sensitive depression with deliberate slowness.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to touch you like this?" he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her core. "To feel your skin beneath my fingers without pretense or shame?"
Vanitha's eyelids fluttered, her lips parting as a soft sigh escaped them. "Tell me," she urged, her body arching subtly into his touch.
"Since the first moment I saw you in this saree," Selvam confessed, his hand traveling upward along her ribcage, fingers tracing the delicate bones beneath her skin. "You were standing beside my son, radiant as a goddess, and I felt something I shouldn't have felt. Something I buried deep inside me, until—"
"Until SilverFox77 found me," Vanitha finished for him, her voice breathless. "Until you started leaving those comments on my Instagram, until you began to see me as a woman, not just your son's wife."
Selvam's hand continued its exploration, traveling upward until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast where it swelled above the low neckline of her blouse. "I tried to resist," he admitted, his thumb tracing the edge of the silken fabric. "Every message I sent was both transgression and relief. Each night, I told myself it would be the last time."
"But you couldn't stop," Vanitha whispered, her body trembling beneath his touch. "Just as I couldn't stop responding."
"No, I couldn't," Selvam admitted, his fingers now tracing the edge of her pallu where it dbangd across her shoulder. "And now I don't want to stop."
With deliberate slowness, his fingers curled around the crimson silk of her pallu. The fabric was cool to the touch, yet seemed to burn against his fingertips as he began to lift it. The weight of tradition, of taboo, of everything forbidden between them hung in that single piece of fabric as he gently tugged it away from her shoulder.
The pallu resisted for a moment, caught on the curve of her breast, before surrendering to his pull. Like a curtain rising on a sacred performance, the silk slid downward in a whispered cascade, revealing her body to him inch by exquisite inch. First the graceful slope of her shoulder, then the delicate collarbone with its hollow that seemed designed for his lips. The thaali gleamed against her skin, nestled between her breasts as if it had always belonged there.
The red blouse hugged her torso, the small hooks straining against the fullness of her breasts. Each breath she took caused the fabric to tighten, revealing the outline of her nipples pressing against the silk. Selvam's gaze traveled down the length of her exposed arm, noting the goosebumps that rose in the wake of his stare.
"Beautiful," he whispered, the word a prayer on his lips. His fingertips traced the edge of her blouse where it met her skin, a touch so light it might have been imagined. "More beautiful than I dared to dream."
Vanitha trembled under his gaze, feeling exposed in a way that transcended the physical. It wasn't just her body being revealed, but her
desires, her needs, her most secret fantasies. The careful planning, the meticulous arrangement of every detail—all of it laid bare before him like an offering.
Selvam reached for her, his large hands encircling her slender neck, fingers pressing gently against her pulse points where her life force thrummed beneath his touch. With tender urgency, he pulled her toward him, eliminating the last whisper of space between them. His thumbs traced the delicate line of her jaw as he tilted her face upward to meet his descending mouth.
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)