06-07-2025, 07:07 PM
# Scene 1
Ramlal selected another kulfi from the box, this one pale green with flecks of pistachio visible beneath its creamy surface. His fingers moved with greater confidence now, the initial tremor replaced by a deliberate slowness that matched the thickening atmosphere between them. The first kulfi had dissolved beyond recognition—partly melted, partly consumed by Devika's lips that now glistened with its sweetness. She watched him unwrap the second treat, her hennaed hands still resting uselessly in her lap, the intricate patterns beginning to darken against her skin.
"Wait," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. "I don't want you standing over me like a servant."
Ramlal paused, the newly unwrapped kulfi suspended between them. "Madam?"
"Sit beside me," Devika instructed, shifting slightly on the sofa to create space. "I don't want to crane my neck looking up at you. And I don't like eating alone while someone watches."
Hesitation flashed across his weathered face, decades of knowing his place warring with the unprecedented invitation. "Sit? Next to you, madam?"
"Yes," she confirmed, patting the cushion beside her with her elbow, careful to keep her hennaed palms exposed to the air. "Here."
Ramlal glanced toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in and catch him in this forbidden intimacy. Finding it still closed, he lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the sofa, his body angled toward hers, the kulfi clutched like a talisman in his hand.
"Relax," Devika murmured, noting the rigid set of his shoulders. "No one will know you're here."
The reassurance seemed to release something in him. He settled more fully onto the cushion, though still maintaining a careful distance between their bodies. The pale yellow of Devika's casual saree dbangd loosely across her form, revealing glimpses of skin at her waist, at her shoulders, teasing possibilities that the formal navy blue of her work attire had concealed.
"Now," she said, turning to face him more directly, "shall we continue our lesson?"
Ramlal nodded, raising the kulfi once more toward her mouth. But Devika shook her head slightly, stopping him with the subtle movement.
"I was thinking," she began, her gaze dropping to the kulfi then returning to his eyes with deliberate intent, "perhaps we could share this one."
"Share?" The word emerged strangled from his throat.
"Yes," she confirmed, her voice dipping lower, infused with suggestion. "Why should I enjoy all the sweetness alone? You should taste it too."
His eyes widened, darting between her face and the kulfi in his hand as if unable to process her meaning. "You want me to... eat this same kulfi, madam?"
"Why not?" She tilted her head, loose hair cascading over one shoulder. "We're both adults. There's nothing wrong with sharing a dessert."
The implication hung between them—that they would share not just the kulfi but the intimacy it represented, the exchange of something more personal than mere food. Ramlal swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly beneath his weathered skin.
"You go first," Devika directed, her eyes fixed on his face. "I want to watch you taste it."
As he hesitantly raised the kulfi toward his own mouth, Devika shifted closer, eliminating the careful space he had maintained between them. Their thighs now pressed together, the thin cotton of his uniform trousers offering little barrier to the warmth of her body through the single layer of her saree.
"Wait," she commanded just as the kulfi reached his lips. "Not like that."
His hand froze, the pale green treat hovering before his mouth. Confusion clouded his eyes, uncertainty replacing the tentative confidence he had begun to develop.
"First," Devika instructed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to lick it. The same way I did. Show me how it's done properly."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of disbelief that she—this educated, beautiful professor—would ask this of him, would want to watch his tongue against the kulfi she would later consume. The realization sent heat spreading through his body, visible in the flush that crept up his neck.
Ramlal extended his tongue, pressing it flat against the side of the kulfi. His eyes remained locked with hers as he dragged his tongue upward, leaving a glistening trail across the cold surface.
"Very good," Devika murmured, her breathing slightly quicker now. "Again. Make it wet."
He complied, his tongue moving more confidently now, circling the kulfi, dampening its surface with each pass. When he finally drew back, the tip of his tongue retreating behind his lips, the kulfi gleamed with moisture in the soft lamp light.
"Now," Devika said, her voice husky, "my turn."
She leaned forward, parting her lips to receive the treat. But rather than offering her a fresh section, Ramlal guided the same spot he had just licked to her mouth. The deliberate choice—his silent acknowledgment of what they were truly sharing—sent a tremor through Devika's body.
Her lips closed around the kulfi, her eyes holding his over the frozen confection. The knowledge that her mouth pressed against the very place his tongue had moistened moments before filled her with a forbidden thrill. She was tasting him, indirectly but undeniably, his saliva mingling with the sweetness of pistachio and cream on her tongue.
When she withdrew, a small sound escaped her throat—not quite a moan, but something adjacent to pleasure.
"How does it taste?" Ramlal asked, his voice rougher than before.
"Different," she replied truthfully. "Sweeter, somehow. With something... extra." She leaned closer, her mouth inches from his ear. "Do you realize what just happened, Ramlal? A Kerala woman just tasted the saliva of a Pune security guard. And she liked it."
He shuddered visibly at her words, his free hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Madam," he breathed, the single word conveying volumes of disbelief and desire.
"Come closer," she instructed, using her elbows to gesture him nearer. "And give me your hand."
Ramlal complied, shifting toward her until their shoulders touched, extending his free hand palm-up between them. Despite the mehandi decorating her skin, Devika captured his wrist with her fingertips, careful to keep her palms elevated. She guided his hand to her waist, to the exposed strip of skin where her loose saree had pulled away from the petticoat beneath.
"Feel the heat," she whispered, positioning his weathered palm against her bare midriff. "From the kulfi. From me."
His fingers spread instinctively against her skin, trembling slightly as they encountered the softness of her waist. The contrast was stark—his hand dark and calloused against her golden flesh, a juxtaposition of worlds that should never have met yet now connected in this most intimate way.
They continued their exchange, passing the kulfi between them—he would taste, then she would taste the same spot, their indirect kiss growing bolder with each transfer. The frozen treat melted faster now, droplets escaping to trail down their fingers, to fall occasionally onto Devika's saree, leaving pale green stains against the yellow fabric.
"I have an idea," Devika said suddenly, her eyes alight with mischief. "Hold the kulfi out, between us."
Ramlal extended his arm, positioning the half-melted treat in the space between their faces.
"Now," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "lick one end while I lick the other."
His eyes widened, comprehension immediate. "Madam, I don't think—"
"Don't think," she interrupted gently. "Just do it. You won't get another chance to share this with a Kerala woman."
The appeal to his pride, to the uniqueness of the moment, dissolved his resistance. He leaned forward, his tongue extending toward the bottom of the kulfi as Devika approached from the opposite side. Their faces drew nearer, the kulfi between them shrinking in significance as the true object of their approach became apparent.
Their tongues made contact with the kulfi simultaneously—hers on the top, his on the bottom, separated by mere centimeters of rapidly melting cream. Devika's eyes remained open, watching as Ramlal's closed in concentration. She flattened her tongue against the cold surface, sliding it upward, as he moved his tongue upward from below.
The inevitable happened with deliberate slowness—their tongues met in the middle, slipping past the dissolving kulfi to touch directly. The contact was electric, the wet heat of their tongues connecting in a kiss that bypassed their lips entirely. Devika felt Ramlal jerk slightly at the contact, his hand at her waist tightening reflexively, fingers digging into the soft flesh.
The slippery slide of tongue against tongue, made more so by the melting kulfi, sent a wave of heat through Devika's body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She tasted pistachio and cream, yes, but beneath it the unmistakable flavor of paan, the slight bitterness that should have repulsed her but instead added a forbidden dimension to their encounter.
Ramlal's arousal was evident in the sudden rigidity of his posture, in the pressure of his fingers against her waist, in the slight groan that escaped his throat as their tongues continued their dance around the rapidly disappearing kulfi. The frozen treat had become nothing more than a pretext, a melting prop in the performance they had both committed to with increasing abandon.
As the last of the kulfi dissolved between them, their tongues remained connected for a heartbeat longer than necessary, neither willing to be the first to withdraw from this unprecedented intimacy. When they finally separated, a thin strand of saliva and melted cream briefly connected them before breaking, a visual echo of the boundary they had just irrevocably crossed.
# Scene 2
The remains of the second kulfi dripped from Ramlal's fingers, a sticky testament to their shared indulgence. Devika leaned back slightly, her breathing uneven, the taste of pistachio and paan lingering on her tongue. The barrier had been breached—their tongues had touched, had slid against each other in a dance more intimate than any conversation they had shared. But it wasn't enough. The brief contact had merely awakened a hunger that the kulfi could no longer satisfy, a craving for something that had nothing to do with sweetness and everything to do with the man whose calloused hand still pressed against her waist.
"Take another," she said, her eyes falling to the box on the coffee table. "A different flavor this time."
Ramlal nodded, reaching for a kulfi wrapped in silver foil. His movements were mechanical, distracted, his mind clearly still processing the intimacy of their shared moment. He peeled back the wrapper to reveal a deep orange treat, its surface smooth and inviting.
"Mango," he identified, his voice hoarse. "Very sweet. Summer flavor."
"Take a bite," Devika instructed, watching his face intently. "I want to see you enjoy it."
Confusion flickered across his features. "A bite? Not licking?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "A proper bite. I want to watch you."
Ramlal hesitated only briefly before bringing the kulfi to his mouth. He closed his lips around the top portion and bit down, severing a small chunk that he held between his teeth, visible for a moment before he closed his mouth fully. He chewed slowly, the cold clearly uncomfortable against his teeth, his expression a mixture of pleasure and bewilderment at her continued interest in watching him eat.
Devika leaned forward suddenly, her eyes locked on his mouth. "You took too much," she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Without sharing. I need it back."
Before Ramlal could respond, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against his. The shock froze him completely—his body rigid, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide with disbelief. Devika's mouth moved against his, soft and insistent, seeking entry. After a moment's resistance born of pure astonishment, his lips parted slightly, and she slipped her tongue between them, ostensibly searching for the kulfi he had consumed.
The pretense dissolved instantly. This was no longer about the dessert—if it ever truly had been. This was Devika's first real kiss in years, her first exploration of another's mouth with genuine desire rather than obligatory affection. She remembered the pornographic scene she had watched earlier, the actors' passionate exchange, and mimicked their movements—lips parting wide, tongue pushing deeper, head angling to achieve maximum contact.
"Mmm," she moaned against his mouth, the sound vibrating between them. "Ramlal, I need that kulfi from your mouth."
Her words seemed to break through his shock. His free hand rose to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her loose hair, holding her against him as he began to respond to the kiss. His lips, initially slack with surprise, now pressed back against hers with growing hunger. The taste of him was complex—mango kulfi layered over the earthier flavor of paan, the slight bitterness she had tasted on his tongue now infusing their kiss completely.
Devika sucked at his bottom lip, drawing it between her own, feeling its fullness, its unexpected softness contrasting with the roughness of his beard. She released it with a wet sound that sent shivers through her body, then immediately recaptured his mouth in a deeper kiss.
"I never thought," Ramlal gasped when they briefly separated for air, "never imagined a woman like you would—"
"Shh," she silenced him, reclaiming his mouth, unwilling to break the spell with words that might remind them of who they were, of the boundaries they were obliterating. Her first kiss would be long and thorough, unmarred by reality's intrusions.
The partially eaten kulfi was melting rapidly in Ramlal's hand, forgotten as their mouths explored each other with increasing boldness. When they parted again, Devika's gaze fell to the orange treat, an idea forming in her mind.
"My turn now," she said, gesturing with her chin toward the kulfi. "I'll take a bite, and then I'll feed you."
Ramlal nodded, his eyes dazed, his lips slightly swollen from the force of their kisses. He raised the kulfi to her mouth, and she bit into it, holding the cold sweetness on her tongue. Then she smiled, a decision visibly forming behind her eyes.
"This Kerala woman is going to sit on your lap," she announced, her voice thick with the melting kulfi and her own desire. "To feed you properly."
Without waiting for his response, Devika rose from the sofa in a fluid motion, careful to keep her hennaed hands elevated. She turned and lowered herself onto Ramlal's lap, sitting sideways across his thighs, her legs extended along the length of the sofa. The position was intimate beyond anything they had shared thus far—her buttocks pressing directly against his thighs, the weight of her body settling fully against him.
Ramlal's breath escaped in a shuddering gasp as he felt her warmth through the thin cotton of her saree, the soft curves of her bottom nestling against him. His free hand instinctively moved to her waist, steadying her, fingers pressing into the exposed skin where her blouse ended and her saree began.
"Can you feel that?" Devika whispered, shifting slightly, deliberately pressing down against the hardness she felt beneath her. "Can you feel what you do to me? What I do to you?"
"Yes," he managed, the word strained. "Madam, I—"
"No 'madam' now," she interrupted. "Just Devika. Say it."
"Devika," he repeated, the name foreign on his tongue, intimate in a way that transcended their physical connection. "Devika."
She smiled, pleased by his compliance, by the reverence with which he spoke her name. Then she leaned forward, the kulfi still held in her mouth, and pressed her lips to his. This time, instead of taking, she gave—pushing the partially melted mango kulfi from her mouth to his with her tongue, sharing the sweetness in the most intimate way possible.
Ramlal accepted her offering with a moan, his mouth opening wider to receive both the kulfi and her probing tongue. They kissed deeply, the melting dessert creating a slick, sweet medium for their tongues to slide against each other. When they finally separated, orange droplets clung to their lips, trails of the shared treat marking their connection.
"Again," Devika commanded, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears. She reached for the kulfi Ramlal still held, careful to use only her fingertips where the mehandi was lightest. She took another bite, but this time, instead of immediately sharing it, she used her tongue to smear the melting treat across her own lips, coating them in sticky sweetness.
"Feel the Kerala woman's taste," she murmured, leaning forward again, pressing her kulfi-coated lips firmly against his. She moved her mouth from side to side, rubbing her lips against his in circular motions, spreading the sweetness between them. The friction of mouth against mouth, slick with kulfi and their own saliva, sent waves of pleasure through her body that pooled low in her belly, a liquid heat that made her press more firmly against his lap.
Ramlal groaned, his hand at her waist tightening reflexively. He kissed her back with increasing urgency, his tongue darting out to lick the kulfi from her lips, from the corners of her mouth, from her chin where droplets had escaped. His other hand, still holding what remained of the kulfi, trembled visibly, his focus entirely consumed by the woman writhing on his lap.
Devika took one final bite of the kulfi, holding it in her mouth until it began to melt. "Open," she commanded, her voice thick with the dissolving treat. When Ramlal's lips parted in obedience, she leaned forward, extending her tongue toward his waiting mouth. "Take my Kerala hot tongue," she whispered, the words sending visible shivers through his body.
She pushed her tongue between his lips, carrying the melting kulfi deep into his mouth. Instead of withdrawing, she kept it there, exploring the unfamiliar territory with bold strokes, tangling with his tongue in a slippery battle that had no victor, only shared pleasure. The taste of paan was stronger now, the kulfi's sweetness receding as their natural flavors dominated.
As they kissed, Devika began to move subtly on his lap, a slight rocking motion that pressed her buttocks more firmly against the hardness straining beneath Ramlal's uniform trousers. She felt him jerk beneath her, his body stiffening, his grip on her waist becoming almost painful in its intensity.
"Hnnn," he grunted against her mouth, the sound primal and unrestrained. His hips bucked upward involuntarily, pressing against her with desperate force. His entire body shuddered, tension building and then suddenly releasing in waves that Devika felt through the thin fabric separating them.
She continued kissing him through his climax, swallowing his groans, feeling a surge of feminine power at having brought him to this point without even touching him intimately. She had made him lose control completely, had reduced this man to his most basic response, with nothing more than her weight on his lap and her mouth against his.
When the shudders finally subsided, Ramlal broke the kiss, dropping his head against the back of the sofa, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. Embarrassment colored his features as awareness returned to his eyes, the realization of what had just happened making him unable to meet her gaze.
Devika felt no such shame. Instead, pride bloomed in her chest—pride that she, a woman whose husband had found her so unremarkable that he had sought satisfaction elsewhere, could inspire such uncontrollable passion in a man. That she could make him climax without even trying, simply by being desirable, by allowing him to taste what had been denied for so long.
"Did you just...?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer, wanting only to hear him acknowledge what her power had done to him.
Ramlal nodded, his eyes still averted. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's been so long, and you're so... I couldn't..."
"Don't apologize," Devika said, shifting slightly on his lap, feeling the dampness beneath her. "I'm flattered. That I could make you feel that way without even touching you."
He finally met her eyes, disbelief mingling with the lingering pleasure in his gaze. "How could I not? You're the most beautiful woman who has ever—" He stopped, words failing him.
Devika smiled, a secret curve of lips still sticky with kulfi and kisses. She had given her first real kiss to this aging security guard with paan-stained teeth, and far from regretting it, she found herself wanting more.
# Scene 3
The sticky remnants of mango kulfi clung to their lips, sweet evidence of boundaries dissolved. Devika remained perched on Ramlal's lap, watching as his breathing gradually steadied, as awareness returned to his eyes. The dampness beneath her—his release, triggered by nothing more than her weight and her kisses—should have disgusted her. Instead, she felt a surge of feminine power, of satisfaction in knowing she had unmade him so completely. And yet, despite what had just transpired between them, she found herself strangely unsated, wanting something more, something she couldn't quite name but could almost taste at the edges of her consciousness.
"There's still more kulfi," she observed, her eyes drifting to the box on the coffee table. A few untouched treats remained nestled in their foil wrappers, promises of continued exploration.
Ramlal followed her gaze, then looked back at her face with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering disbelief. "You want more?" he asked, his voice rough from their kisses, from the groans she had drawn from his throat.
"Not to eat," Devika clarified, shifting slightly on his lap. "For... other purposes."
Something in her tone made his breath catch. Despite what had just happened, despite his age and the natural recovery time his body should have required, she felt a stirring beneath her, evidence that her words alone could reawaken his desire.
"Reach for one," she instructed, nodding toward the box. "The chocolate one."
Ramlal obeyed, stretching to retrieve the dark brown kulfi while keeping his other arm firmly around her waist, unwilling to release her even for a moment. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper, clumsy with anticipation.
"Now," Devika said once the chocolate kulfi was revealed, "I want to try something." She leaned forward, opening her mouth to take the end of the kulfi between her lips. Rather than biting or sucking, she simply held it there, allowing the treat to begin melting against the heat of her tongue. When she pulled back, her tongue emerged coated in a layer of chocolate, glistening in the soft lamplight.
"Lick it," she commanded, extending her tongue toward Ramlal's face. "Lick my tongue clean."
Ramlal stared at the offered appendage, momentarily stunned by her boldness. This was beyond anything he had experienced—this educated, beautiful woman, presenting her chocolate-covered tongue for his pleasure, inviting an intimacy so raw it transcended the merely sexual.
"I..." he hesitated, something like nervousness crossing his weathered features. "Madam—Devika—my mouth is not clean. The paan..."
"I know what your mouth tastes like," she interrupted, her tongue still extended, chocolate beginning to drip from its tip. "I want it. Lick me, Ramlal."
The use of his name, spoken in that commanding tone, broke through his resistance. He leaned forward, his own tongue emerging to meet hers in the space between their faces. The first contact was tentative—just the tip of his tongue touching hers, sampling the chocolate with delicate precision. But when Devika moaned softly, encouragingly, his restraint dissolved.
His tongue flattened against hers, licking broad strokes across its surface, gathering the melting chocolate with growing confidence. The sensation was electric—more intimate somehow than their previous kisses, this contact of tongue against tongue without the surrounding press of lips. Devika held perfectly still, allowing him to taste her, to clean her with thorough attention that soon transcended the pretext of the chocolate.
"Now suck it," she whispered when the chocolate was gone, her tongue still extended, glistening with his saliva rather than kulfi. "Take my tongue into your mouth."
Ramlal groaned at her words, his hands tightening at her waist. He opened his mouth wider, capturing her extended tongue between his lips, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling her deeper, his teeth grazing the sensitive surface with just enough pressure to send shivers racing down her spine.
Devika moaned, the sound vibrating through their connected mouths. Her body arched involuntarily, pressing her chest forward as pleasure radiated from the sensitive organ he was devouring. He sucked harder, his mouth creating a vacuum around her tongue, the sensation almost painful in its intensity yet undeniably arousing.
When he finally released her, they were both breathing heavily, their faces flushed with renewed desire. Devika's tongue felt slightly swollen, sensitized from his attention, yet she immediately wanted more.
"Your turn," she said, gesturing toward the kulfi still in his hand. "Make your tongue wet with it. I want to taste you properly."
Ramlal's eyes darkened at her words. He raised the kulfi to his own mouth, mimicking what she had done, allowing the chocolate to coat his tongue before extending it toward her. The sight was obscene in its rawness—this elderly man offering his tongue to her, stained with paan and kulfi, glistening with saliva in the low light of her apartment.
She should have been repulsed. Instead, she found herself leaning forward eagerly, her mouth opening to receive him. She captured his tongue between her lips, drawing it into her mouth with a hunger that surprised even herself. The taste was complex—chocolate sweetness layered over the earthier flavor of paan, the combination strange yet oddly compelling. She sucked hard, feeling him tremble beneath her, hearing the muffled groan that escaped his throat as she drew him deeper.
His tongue was rougher than hers, the surface slightly textured against the roof of her mouth as she explored it with her own. She sucked rhythmically, mimicking more intimate acts, feeling his body respond beneath her. The dampness from his earlier release was forgotten as new hardness pressed against her, evidence that age was no match for desire when properly stoked.
Ramlal's hands, which had remained respectfully at her waist throughout their exchange, now grew bolder. As she continued to suck his tongue, his palms began to slide upward along her sides, thumbs tracing the underswell of her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse. The touch was tentative at first, a question rather than a demand, but grew more confident when she didn't immediately object.
Devika felt his intentions—the destination of those wandering hands—and made a swift decision. She had allowed much tonight, had crossed boundaries she had never imagined breaching, but some limits remained. This exploration had been about her mouth, about tastes and tongues and kisses. She wasn't ready to surrender more intimate territories.
She released his tongue, simultaneously capturing his wrists with her fingertips, careful to keep her hennaed palms from making contact. "No," she said simply, firmly, moving his hands back to her waist. "Not those."
Disappointment flashed across his face, but he didn't argue, didn't push. His hands returned to her waist, his thumbs resuming their gentle caress of exposed skin without venturing higher. There was acceptance in his touch—gratitude for what she had given rather than resentment for what she withheld.
Devika smiled, pleased by his respect for her boundaries. She rewarded him by resuming their kiss, her lips pressing against his, her tongue slipping back into his mouth. As they kissed, their hands found each other, fingers intertwining in an unexpectedly tender gesture. Palm to palm, fingers laced together, they created a connection that felt almost more intimate than the wet heat of their joined mouths.
When they parted for breath, Devika's mind circled back to a thought that had been forming since their first taste of shared kulfi—a desire to experience something even more forbidden, more primal.
"Ramlal," she said softly, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, "I want something from you."
"Anything," he replied immediately, his eyes dark with continued desire despite the release he had already experienced.
"I want your saliva," she stated, the words hanging between them in their raw simplicity. "Mixed with kulfi. In my mouth."
Ramlal drew back slightly, confusion evident in his expression. "My... saliva? You want me to...?"
"Yes," she confirmed, maintaining eye contact, refusing to show embarrassment at her request. "I want to taste you directly. Not just from kissing, but..." She hesitated, then finished her thought. "I want you to spit in my mouth."
His face registered shock, followed by concern. "But madam—Devika—I chew paan. My mouth is not clean for such a thing. You are an educated woman, from Kerala. I am just—"
"That's exactly why I want it," she interrupted, her voice low and intense. "Because you're not like me. Because it's forbidden. Because I never thought I would want such a thing, yet here I am, asking for it."
Something shifted in his eyes—understanding, perhaps, of the deeper hunger that drove her request. Not just physical desire, but a need to transgress, to shatter the boundaries that had confined her for so long.
"If you're sure," he said finally, reaching for the kulfi again.
He took a small bite, holding the cold sweetness in his mouth, allowing it to melt against his tongue. Then he looked at Devika questioningly, waiting for her final confirmation. She responded by sliding from his lap, kneeling on the floor between his legs, her head tilted back, her lips parted in expectation. The position should have made her feel degraded, submissive, yet instead she felt powerful—this was her choice, her desire, her command that he was following.
Ramlal leaned forward, gathering the mixture of kulfi and saliva in his mouth. He hesitated one final moment, then parted his lips, allowing a thin stream to fall directly into Devika's waiting mouth. The liquid landed on her tongue, cool and sweet from the kulfi, yet unmistakably his—intimate fluid that society dictated should never be shared.
She closed her mouth, swallowing deliberately, maintaining eye contact as she accepted this most personal offering. A shudder passed through her body—not disgust, but a dark pleasure in having crossed yet another boundary, in having tasted something so forbidden.
"Again," she requested, her voice husky. "Without the kulfi this time. Just you."
This time, Ramlal didn't hesitate. He gathered saliva in his mouth, leaned forward, and released it into hers in a more substantial stream. The taste was stronger now without the kulfi to mask it—paan and tobacco and the essence of him, undiluted and unmistakable. Devika swallowed it with the same deliberate motion, feeling a transgressive thrill course through her veins.
"Now," she said, rising from her kneeling position, resuming her seat on his lap, "it's your turn. You said you wanted to taste Kerala flavor."
She gathered saliva in her own mouth, clean and sweet compared to his, and bent toward him. He tilted his head back, lips parting eagerly to receive her offering. She let it fall in a thin stream, watching as his throat worked to swallow, as his eyes closed in apparent reverence at this most intimate exchange.
"Very tasty," he murmured when he had swallowed completely. "Sweeter than kulfi."
They continued this exchange twice more, this sharing of their most personal fluids, before Devika's sense of propriety finally reasserted itself. She had ventured further tonight than she had ever imagined possible, had tasted and been tasted in ways that defied conventional boundaries. Yet she knew this interlude must end, must remain contained within the walls of her apartment, separate from the reality that waited outside.
She leaned forward one final time, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that felt almost chaste compared to what had preceded it. "Love you," she whispered against his mouth, the words surprising her as they emerged. "Love you and thank you for the kiss."
Then she rose from his lap, adjusting her saree with the tips of her fingers, careful of the mehandi that had now dried completely, leaving dark patterns against her skin.
"We're done for now," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You should go before someone comes looking for you."
Ramlal nodded, understanding the dismissal, accepting the necessary return to their separate worlds. He stood, adjusting his uniform trousers, attempting to conceal the evidence of their encounter. His expression was dazed but contented, like a man who had briefly glimpsed paradise and now found himself returned to earth, changed but grateful.
"Thank you," he said simply, moving toward the door. "For everything."
Devika smiled, a private curve of lips still swollen from their kisses. "Good night, Ramlal."
As the door closed behind him, she touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the ghost of his mouth against hers, the lingering taste of him on her tongue. She had crossed boundaries tonight that she had never imagined breaching, had discovered desires she hadn't known existed within her. And rather than shame, she felt only a strange peace, a sense of having reclaimed something vital that had long been denied.
Ramlal selected another kulfi from the box, this one pale green with flecks of pistachio visible beneath its creamy surface. His fingers moved with greater confidence now, the initial tremor replaced by a deliberate slowness that matched the thickening atmosphere between them. The first kulfi had dissolved beyond recognition—partly melted, partly consumed by Devika's lips that now glistened with its sweetness. She watched him unwrap the second treat, her hennaed hands still resting uselessly in her lap, the intricate patterns beginning to darken against her skin.
"Wait," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. "I don't want you standing over me like a servant."
Ramlal paused, the newly unwrapped kulfi suspended between them. "Madam?"
"Sit beside me," Devika instructed, shifting slightly on the sofa to create space. "I don't want to crane my neck looking up at you. And I don't like eating alone while someone watches."
Hesitation flashed across his weathered face, decades of knowing his place warring with the unprecedented invitation. "Sit? Next to you, madam?"
"Yes," she confirmed, patting the cushion beside her with her elbow, careful to keep her hennaed palms exposed to the air. "Here."
Ramlal glanced toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in and catch him in this forbidden intimacy. Finding it still closed, he lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the sofa, his body angled toward hers, the kulfi clutched like a talisman in his hand.
"Relax," Devika murmured, noting the rigid set of his shoulders. "No one will know you're here."
The reassurance seemed to release something in him. He settled more fully onto the cushion, though still maintaining a careful distance between their bodies. The pale yellow of Devika's casual saree dbangd loosely across her form, revealing glimpses of skin at her waist, at her shoulders, teasing possibilities that the formal navy blue of her work attire had concealed.
"Now," she said, turning to face him more directly, "shall we continue our lesson?"
Ramlal nodded, raising the kulfi once more toward her mouth. But Devika shook her head slightly, stopping him with the subtle movement.
"I was thinking," she began, her gaze dropping to the kulfi then returning to his eyes with deliberate intent, "perhaps we could share this one."
"Share?" The word emerged strangled from his throat.
"Yes," she confirmed, her voice dipping lower, infused with suggestion. "Why should I enjoy all the sweetness alone? You should taste it too."
His eyes widened, darting between her face and the kulfi in his hand as if unable to process her meaning. "You want me to... eat this same kulfi, madam?"
"Why not?" She tilted her head, loose hair cascading over one shoulder. "We're both adults. There's nothing wrong with sharing a dessert."
The implication hung between them—that they would share not just the kulfi but the intimacy it represented, the exchange of something more personal than mere food. Ramlal swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly beneath his weathered skin.
"You go first," Devika directed, her eyes fixed on his face. "I want to watch you taste it."
As he hesitantly raised the kulfi toward his own mouth, Devika shifted closer, eliminating the careful space he had maintained between them. Their thighs now pressed together, the thin cotton of his uniform trousers offering little barrier to the warmth of her body through the single layer of her saree.
"Wait," she commanded just as the kulfi reached his lips. "Not like that."
His hand froze, the pale green treat hovering before his mouth. Confusion clouded his eyes, uncertainty replacing the tentative confidence he had begun to develop.
"First," Devika instructed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to lick it. The same way I did. Show me how it's done properly."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of disbelief that she—this educated, beautiful professor—would ask this of him, would want to watch his tongue against the kulfi she would later consume. The realization sent heat spreading through his body, visible in the flush that crept up his neck.
Ramlal extended his tongue, pressing it flat against the side of the kulfi. His eyes remained locked with hers as he dragged his tongue upward, leaving a glistening trail across the cold surface.
"Very good," Devika murmured, her breathing slightly quicker now. "Again. Make it wet."
He complied, his tongue moving more confidently now, circling the kulfi, dampening its surface with each pass. When he finally drew back, the tip of his tongue retreating behind his lips, the kulfi gleamed with moisture in the soft lamp light.
"Now," Devika said, her voice husky, "my turn."
She leaned forward, parting her lips to receive the treat. But rather than offering her a fresh section, Ramlal guided the same spot he had just licked to her mouth. The deliberate choice—his silent acknowledgment of what they were truly sharing—sent a tremor through Devika's body.
Her lips closed around the kulfi, her eyes holding his over the frozen confection. The knowledge that her mouth pressed against the very place his tongue had moistened moments before filled her with a forbidden thrill. She was tasting him, indirectly but undeniably, his saliva mingling with the sweetness of pistachio and cream on her tongue.
When she withdrew, a small sound escaped her throat—not quite a moan, but something adjacent to pleasure.
"How does it taste?" Ramlal asked, his voice rougher than before.
"Different," she replied truthfully. "Sweeter, somehow. With something... extra." She leaned closer, her mouth inches from his ear. "Do you realize what just happened, Ramlal? A Kerala woman just tasted the saliva of a Pune security guard. And she liked it."
He shuddered visibly at her words, his free hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Madam," he breathed, the single word conveying volumes of disbelief and desire.
"Come closer," she instructed, using her elbows to gesture him nearer. "And give me your hand."
Ramlal complied, shifting toward her until their shoulders touched, extending his free hand palm-up between them. Despite the mehandi decorating her skin, Devika captured his wrist with her fingertips, careful to keep her palms elevated. She guided his hand to her waist, to the exposed strip of skin where her loose saree had pulled away from the petticoat beneath.
"Feel the heat," she whispered, positioning his weathered palm against her bare midriff. "From the kulfi. From me."
His fingers spread instinctively against her skin, trembling slightly as they encountered the softness of her waist. The contrast was stark—his hand dark and calloused against her golden flesh, a juxtaposition of worlds that should never have met yet now connected in this most intimate way.
They continued their exchange, passing the kulfi between them—he would taste, then she would taste the same spot, their indirect kiss growing bolder with each transfer. The frozen treat melted faster now, droplets escaping to trail down their fingers, to fall occasionally onto Devika's saree, leaving pale green stains against the yellow fabric.
"I have an idea," Devika said suddenly, her eyes alight with mischief. "Hold the kulfi out, between us."
Ramlal extended his arm, positioning the half-melted treat in the space between their faces.
"Now," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "lick one end while I lick the other."
His eyes widened, comprehension immediate. "Madam, I don't think—"
"Don't think," she interrupted gently. "Just do it. You won't get another chance to share this with a Kerala woman."
The appeal to his pride, to the uniqueness of the moment, dissolved his resistance. He leaned forward, his tongue extending toward the bottom of the kulfi as Devika approached from the opposite side. Their faces drew nearer, the kulfi between them shrinking in significance as the true object of their approach became apparent.
Their tongues made contact with the kulfi simultaneously—hers on the top, his on the bottom, separated by mere centimeters of rapidly melting cream. Devika's eyes remained open, watching as Ramlal's closed in concentration. She flattened her tongue against the cold surface, sliding it upward, as he moved his tongue upward from below.
The inevitable happened with deliberate slowness—their tongues met in the middle, slipping past the dissolving kulfi to touch directly. The contact was electric, the wet heat of their tongues connecting in a kiss that bypassed their lips entirely. Devika felt Ramlal jerk slightly at the contact, his hand at her waist tightening reflexively, fingers digging into the soft flesh.
The slippery slide of tongue against tongue, made more so by the melting kulfi, sent a wave of heat through Devika's body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She tasted pistachio and cream, yes, but beneath it the unmistakable flavor of paan, the slight bitterness that should have repulsed her but instead added a forbidden dimension to their encounter.
Ramlal's arousal was evident in the sudden rigidity of his posture, in the pressure of his fingers against her waist, in the slight groan that escaped his throat as their tongues continued their dance around the rapidly disappearing kulfi. The frozen treat had become nothing more than a pretext, a melting prop in the performance they had both committed to with increasing abandon.
As the last of the kulfi dissolved between them, their tongues remained connected for a heartbeat longer than necessary, neither willing to be the first to withdraw from this unprecedented intimacy. When they finally separated, a thin strand of saliva and melted cream briefly connected them before breaking, a visual echo of the boundary they had just irrevocably crossed.
# Scene 2
The remains of the second kulfi dripped from Ramlal's fingers, a sticky testament to their shared indulgence. Devika leaned back slightly, her breathing uneven, the taste of pistachio and paan lingering on her tongue. The barrier had been breached—their tongues had touched, had slid against each other in a dance more intimate than any conversation they had shared. But it wasn't enough. The brief contact had merely awakened a hunger that the kulfi could no longer satisfy, a craving for something that had nothing to do with sweetness and everything to do with the man whose calloused hand still pressed against her waist.
"Take another," she said, her eyes falling to the box on the coffee table. "A different flavor this time."
Ramlal nodded, reaching for a kulfi wrapped in silver foil. His movements were mechanical, distracted, his mind clearly still processing the intimacy of their shared moment. He peeled back the wrapper to reveal a deep orange treat, its surface smooth and inviting.
"Mango," he identified, his voice hoarse. "Very sweet. Summer flavor."
"Take a bite," Devika instructed, watching his face intently. "I want to see you enjoy it."
Confusion flickered across his features. "A bite? Not licking?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "A proper bite. I want to watch you."
Ramlal hesitated only briefly before bringing the kulfi to his mouth. He closed his lips around the top portion and bit down, severing a small chunk that he held between his teeth, visible for a moment before he closed his mouth fully. He chewed slowly, the cold clearly uncomfortable against his teeth, his expression a mixture of pleasure and bewilderment at her continued interest in watching him eat.
Devika leaned forward suddenly, her eyes locked on his mouth. "You took too much," she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Without sharing. I need it back."
Before Ramlal could respond, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against his. The shock froze him completely—his body rigid, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide with disbelief. Devika's mouth moved against his, soft and insistent, seeking entry. After a moment's resistance born of pure astonishment, his lips parted slightly, and she slipped her tongue between them, ostensibly searching for the kulfi he had consumed.
The pretense dissolved instantly. This was no longer about the dessert—if it ever truly had been. This was Devika's first real kiss in years, her first exploration of another's mouth with genuine desire rather than obligatory affection. She remembered the pornographic scene she had watched earlier, the actors' passionate exchange, and mimicked their movements—lips parting wide, tongue pushing deeper, head angling to achieve maximum contact.
"Mmm," she moaned against his mouth, the sound vibrating between them. "Ramlal, I need that kulfi from your mouth."
Her words seemed to break through his shock. His free hand rose to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her loose hair, holding her against him as he began to respond to the kiss. His lips, initially slack with surprise, now pressed back against hers with growing hunger. The taste of him was complex—mango kulfi layered over the earthier flavor of paan, the slight bitterness she had tasted on his tongue now infusing their kiss completely.
Devika sucked at his bottom lip, drawing it between her own, feeling its fullness, its unexpected softness contrasting with the roughness of his beard. She released it with a wet sound that sent shivers through her body, then immediately recaptured his mouth in a deeper kiss.
"I never thought," Ramlal gasped when they briefly separated for air, "never imagined a woman like you would—"
"Shh," she silenced him, reclaiming his mouth, unwilling to break the spell with words that might remind them of who they were, of the boundaries they were obliterating. Her first kiss would be long and thorough, unmarred by reality's intrusions.
The partially eaten kulfi was melting rapidly in Ramlal's hand, forgotten as their mouths explored each other with increasing boldness. When they parted again, Devika's gaze fell to the orange treat, an idea forming in her mind.
"My turn now," she said, gesturing with her chin toward the kulfi. "I'll take a bite, and then I'll feed you."
Ramlal nodded, his eyes dazed, his lips slightly swollen from the force of their kisses. He raised the kulfi to her mouth, and she bit into it, holding the cold sweetness on her tongue. Then she smiled, a decision visibly forming behind her eyes.
"This Kerala woman is going to sit on your lap," she announced, her voice thick with the melting kulfi and her own desire. "To feed you properly."
Without waiting for his response, Devika rose from the sofa in a fluid motion, careful to keep her hennaed hands elevated. She turned and lowered herself onto Ramlal's lap, sitting sideways across his thighs, her legs extended along the length of the sofa. The position was intimate beyond anything they had shared thus far—her buttocks pressing directly against his thighs, the weight of her body settling fully against him.
Ramlal's breath escaped in a shuddering gasp as he felt her warmth through the thin cotton of her saree, the soft curves of her bottom nestling against him. His free hand instinctively moved to her waist, steadying her, fingers pressing into the exposed skin where her blouse ended and her saree began.
"Can you feel that?" Devika whispered, shifting slightly, deliberately pressing down against the hardness she felt beneath her. "Can you feel what you do to me? What I do to you?"
"Yes," he managed, the word strained. "Madam, I—"
"No 'madam' now," she interrupted. "Just Devika. Say it."
"Devika," he repeated, the name foreign on his tongue, intimate in a way that transcended their physical connection. "Devika."
She smiled, pleased by his compliance, by the reverence with which he spoke her name. Then she leaned forward, the kulfi still held in her mouth, and pressed her lips to his. This time, instead of taking, she gave—pushing the partially melted mango kulfi from her mouth to his with her tongue, sharing the sweetness in the most intimate way possible.
Ramlal accepted her offering with a moan, his mouth opening wider to receive both the kulfi and her probing tongue. They kissed deeply, the melting dessert creating a slick, sweet medium for their tongues to slide against each other. When they finally separated, orange droplets clung to their lips, trails of the shared treat marking their connection.
"Again," Devika commanded, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears. She reached for the kulfi Ramlal still held, careful to use only her fingertips where the mehandi was lightest. She took another bite, but this time, instead of immediately sharing it, she used her tongue to smear the melting treat across her own lips, coating them in sticky sweetness.
"Feel the Kerala woman's taste," she murmured, leaning forward again, pressing her kulfi-coated lips firmly against his. She moved her mouth from side to side, rubbing her lips against his in circular motions, spreading the sweetness between them. The friction of mouth against mouth, slick with kulfi and their own saliva, sent waves of pleasure through her body that pooled low in her belly, a liquid heat that made her press more firmly against his lap.
Ramlal groaned, his hand at her waist tightening reflexively. He kissed her back with increasing urgency, his tongue darting out to lick the kulfi from her lips, from the corners of her mouth, from her chin where droplets had escaped. His other hand, still holding what remained of the kulfi, trembled visibly, his focus entirely consumed by the woman writhing on his lap.
Devika took one final bite of the kulfi, holding it in her mouth until it began to melt. "Open," she commanded, her voice thick with the dissolving treat. When Ramlal's lips parted in obedience, she leaned forward, extending her tongue toward his waiting mouth. "Take my Kerala hot tongue," she whispered, the words sending visible shivers through his body.
She pushed her tongue between his lips, carrying the melting kulfi deep into his mouth. Instead of withdrawing, she kept it there, exploring the unfamiliar territory with bold strokes, tangling with his tongue in a slippery battle that had no victor, only shared pleasure. The taste of paan was stronger now, the kulfi's sweetness receding as their natural flavors dominated.
As they kissed, Devika began to move subtly on his lap, a slight rocking motion that pressed her buttocks more firmly against the hardness straining beneath Ramlal's uniform trousers. She felt him jerk beneath her, his body stiffening, his grip on her waist becoming almost painful in its intensity.
"Hnnn," he grunted against her mouth, the sound primal and unrestrained. His hips bucked upward involuntarily, pressing against her with desperate force. His entire body shuddered, tension building and then suddenly releasing in waves that Devika felt through the thin fabric separating them.
She continued kissing him through his climax, swallowing his groans, feeling a surge of feminine power at having brought him to this point without even touching him intimately. She had made him lose control completely, had reduced this man to his most basic response, with nothing more than her weight on his lap and her mouth against his.
When the shudders finally subsided, Ramlal broke the kiss, dropping his head against the back of the sofa, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. Embarrassment colored his features as awareness returned to his eyes, the realization of what had just happened making him unable to meet her gaze.
Devika felt no such shame. Instead, pride bloomed in her chest—pride that she, a woman whose husband had found her so unremarkable that he had sought satisfaction elsewhere, could inspire such uncontrollable passion in a man. That she could make him climax without even trying, simply by being desirable, by allowing him to taste what had been denied for so long.
"Did you just...?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer, wanting only to hear him acknowledge what her power had done to him.
Ramlal nodded, his eyes still averted. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's been so long, and you're so... I couldn't..."
"Don't apologize," Devika said, shifting slightly on his lap, feeling the dampness beneath her. "I'm flattered. That I could make you feel that way without even touching you."
He finally met her eyes, disbelief mingling with the lingering pleasure in his gaze. "How could I not? You're the most beautiful woman who has ever—" He stopped, words failing him.
Devika smiled, a secret curve of lips still sticky with kulfi and kisses. She had given her first real kiss to this aging security guard with paan-stained teeth, and far from regretting it, she found herself wanting more.
# Scene 3
The sticky remnants of mango kulfi clung to their lips, sweet evidence of boundaries dissolved. Devika remained perched on Ramlal's lap, watching as his breathing gradually steadied, as awareness returned to his eyes. The dampness beneath her—his release, triggered by nothing more than her weight and her kisses—should have disgusted her. Instead, she felt a surge of feminine power, of satisfaction in knowing she had unmade him so completely. And yet, despite what had just transpired between them, she found herself strangely unsated, wanting something more, something she couldn't quite name but could almost taste at the edges of her consciousness.
"There's still more kulfi," she observed, her eyes drifting to the box on the coffee table. A few untouched treats remained nestled in their foil wrappers, promises of continued exploration.
Ramlal followed her gaze, then looked back at her face with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering disbelief. "You want more?" he asked, his voice rough from their kisses, from the groans she had drawn from his throat.
"Not to eat," Devika clarified, shifting slightly on his lap. "For... other purposes."
Something in her tone made his breath catch. Despite what had just happened, despite his age and the natural recovery time his body should have required, she felt a stirring beneath her, evidence that her words alone could reawaken his desire.
"Reach for one," she instructed, nodding toward the box. "The chocolate one."
Ramlal obeyed, stretching to retrieve the dark brown kulfi while keeping his other arm firmly around her waist, unwilling to release her even for a moment. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper, clumsy with anticipation.
"Now," Devika said once the chocolate kulfi was revealed, "I want to try something." She leaned forward, opening her mouth to take the end of the kulfi between her lips. Rather than biting or sucking, she simply held it there, allowing the treat to begin melting against the heat of her tongue. When she pulled back, her tongue emerged coated in a layer of chocolate, glistening in the soft lamplight.
"Lick it," she commanded, extending her tongue toward Ramlal's face. "Lick my tongue clean."
Ramlal stared at the offered appendage, momentarily stunned by her boldness. This was beyond anything he had experienced—this educated, beautiful woman, presenting her chocolate-covered tongue for his pleasure, inviting an intimacy so raw it transcended the merely sexual.
"I..." he hesitated, something like nervousness crossing his weathered features. "Madam—Devika—my mouth is not clean. The paan..."
"I know what your mouth tastes like," she interrupted, her tongue still extended, chocolate beginning to drip from its tip. "I want it. Lick me, Ramlal."
The use of his name, spoken in that commanding tone, broke through his resistance. He leaned forward, his own tongue emerging to meet hers in the space between their faces. The first contact was tentative—just the tip of his tongue touching hers, sampling the chocolate with delicate precision. But when Devika moaned softly, encouragingly, his restraint dissolved.
His tongue flattened against hers, licking broad strokes across its surface, gathering the melting chocolate with growing confidence. The sensation was electric—more intimate somehow than their previous kisses, this contact of tongue against tongue without the surrounding press of lips. Devika held perfectly still, allowing him to taste her, to clean her with thorough attention that soon transcended the pretext of the chocolate.
"Now suck it," she whispered when the chocolate was gone, her tongue still extended, glistening with his saliva rather than kulfi. "Take my tongue into your mouth."
Ramlal groaned at her words, his hands tightening at her waist. He opened his mouth wider, capturing her extended tongue between his lips, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. He sucked gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling her deeper, his teeth grazing the sensitive surface with just enough pressure to send shivers racing down her spine.
Devika moaned, the sound vibrating through their connected mouths. Her body arched involuntarily, pressing her chest forward as pleasure radiated from the sensitive organ he was devouring. He sucked harder, his mouth creating a vacuum around her tongue, the sensation almost painful in its intensity yet undeniably arousing.
When he finally released her, they were both breathing heavily, their faces flushed with renewed desire. Devika's tongue felt slightly swollen, sensitized from his attention, yet she immediately wanted more.
"Your turn," she said, gesturing toward the kulfi still in his hand. "Make your tongue wet with it. I want to taste you properly."
Ramlal's eyes darkened at her words. He raised the kulfi to his own mouth, mimicking what she had done, allowing the chocolate to coat his tongue before extending it toward her. The sight was obscene in its rawness—this elderly man offering his tongue to her, stained with paan and kulfi, glistening with saliva in the low light of her apartment.
She should have been repulsed. Instead, she found herself leaning forward eagerly, her mouth opening to receive him. She captured his tongue between her lips, drawing it into her mouth with a hunger that surprised even herself. The taste was complex—chocolate sweetness layered over the earthier flavor of paan, the combination strange yet oddly compelling. She sucked hard, feeling him tremble beneath her, hearing the muffled groan that escaped his throat as she drew him deeper.
His tongue was rougher than hers, the surface slightly textured against the roof of her mouth as she explored it with her own. She sucked rhythmically, mimicking more intimate acts, feeling his body respond beneath her. The dampness from his earlier release was forgotten as new hardness pressed against her, evidence that age was no match for desire when properly stoked.
Ramlal's hands, which had remained respectfully at her waist throughout their exchange, now grew bolder. As she continued to suck his tongue, his palms began to slide upward along her sides, thumbs tracing the underswell of her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse. The touch was tentative at first, a question rather than a demand, but grew more confident when she didn't immediately object.
Devika felt his intentions—the destination of those wandering hands—and made a swift decision. She had allowed much tonight, had crossed boundaries she had never imagined breaching, but some limits remained. This exploration had been about her mouth, about tastes and tongues and kisses. She wasn't ready to surrender more intimate territories.
She released his tongue, simultaneously capturing his wrists with her fingertips, careful to keep her hennaed palms from making contact. "No," she said simply, firmly, moving his hands back to her waist. "Not those."
Disappointment flashed across his face, but he didn't argue, didn't push. His hands returned to her waist, his thumbs resuming their gentle caress of exposed skin without venturing higher. There was acceptance in his touch—gratitude for what she had given rather than resentment for what she withheld.
Devika smiled, pleased by his respect for her boundaries. She rewarded him by resuming their kiss, her lips pressing against his, her tongue slipping back into his mouth. As they kissed, their hands found each other, fingers intertwining in an unexpectedly tender gesture. Palm to palm, fingers laced together, they created a connection that felt almost more intimate than the wet heat of their joined mouths.
When they parted for breath, Devika's mind circled back to a thought that had been forming since their first taste of shared kulfi—a desire to experience something even more forbidden, more primal.
"Ramlal," she said softly, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, "I want something from you."
"Anything," he replied immediately, his eyes dark with continued desire despite the release he had already experienced.
"I want your saliva," she stated, the words hanging between them in their raw simplicity. "Mixed with kulfi. In my mouth."
Ramlal drew back slightly, confusion evident in his expression. "My... saliva? You want me to...?"
"Yes," she confirmed, maintaining eye contact, refusing to show embarrassment at her request. "I want to taste you directly. Not just from kissing, but..." She hesitated, then finished her thought. "I want you to spit in my mouth."
His face registered shock, followed by concern. "But madam—Devika—I chew paan. My mouth is not clean for such a thing. You are an educated woman, from Kerala. I am just—"
"That's exactly why I want it," she interrupted, her voice low and intense. "Because you're not like me. Because it's forbidden. Because I never thought I would want such a thing, yet here I am, asking for it."
Something shifted in his eyes—understanding, perhaps, of the deeper hunger that drove her request. Not just physical desire, but a need to transgress, to shatter the boundaries that had confined her for so long.
"If you're sure," he said finally, reaching for the kulfi again.
He took a small bite, holding the cold sweetness in his mouth, allowing it to melt against his tongue. Then he looked at Devika questioningly, waiting for her final confirmation. She responded by sliding from his lap, kneeling on the floor between his legs, her head tilted back, her lips parted in expectation. The position should have made her feel degraded, submissive, yet instead she felt powerful—this was her choice, her desire, her command that he was following.
Ramlal leaned forward, gathering the mixture of kulfi and saliva in his mouth. He hesitated one final moment, then parted his lips, allowing a thin stream to fall directly into Devika's waiting mouth. The liquid landed on her tongue, cool and sweet from the kulfi, yet unmistakably his—intimate fluid that society dictated should never be shared.
She closed her mouth, swallowing deliberately, maintaining eye contact as she accepted this most personal offering. A shudder passed through her body—not disgust, but a dark pleasure in having crossed yet another boundary, in having tasted something so forbidden.
"Again," she requested, her voice husky. "Without the kulfi this time. Just you."
This time, Ramlal didn't hesitate. He gathered saliva in his mouth, leaned forward, and released it into hers in a more substantial stream. The taste was stronger now without the kulfi to mask it—paan and tobacco and the essence of him, undiluted and unmistakable. Devika swallowed it with the same deliberate motion, feeling a transgressive thrill course through her veins.
"Now," she said, rising from her kneeling position, resuming her seat on his lap, "it's your turn. You said you wanted to taste Kerala flavor."
She gathered saliva in her own mouth, clean and sweet compared to his, and bent toward him. He tilted his head back, lips parting eagerly to receive her offering. She let it fall in a thin stream, watching as his throat worked to swallow, as his eyes closed in apparent reverence at this most intimate exchange.
"Very tasty," he murmured when he had swallowed completely. "Sweeter than kulfi."
They continued this exchange twice more, this sharing of their most personal fluids, before Devika's sense of propriety finally reasserted itself. She had ventured further tonight than she had ever imagined possible, had tasted and been tasted in ways that defied conventional boundaries. Yet she knew this interlude must end, must remain contained within the walls of her apartment, separate from the reality that waited outside.
She leaned forward one final time, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that felt almost chaste compared to what had preceded it. "Love you," she whispered against his mouth, the words surprising her as they emerged. "Love you and thank you for the kiss."
Then she rose from his lap, adjusting her saree with the tips of her fingers, careful of the mehandi that had now dried completely, leaving dark patterns against her skin.
"We're done for now," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You should go before someone comes looking for you."
Ramlal nodded, understanding the dismissal, accepting the necessary return to their separate worlds. He stood, adjusting his uniform trousers, attempting to conceal the evidence of their encounter. His expression was dazed but contented, like a man who had briefly glimpsed paradise and now found himself returned to earth, changed but grateful.
"Thank you," he said simply, moving toward the door. "For everything."
Devika smiled, a private curve of lips still swollen from their kisses. "Good night, Ramlal."
As the door closed behind him, she touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the ghost of his mouth against hers, the lingering taste of him on her tongue. She had crossed boundaries tonight that she had never imagined breaching, had discovered desires she hadn't known existed within her. And rather than shame, she felt only a strange peace, a sense of having reclaimed something vital that had long been denied.
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