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

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



The hostel room smelled of incense and unwashed laundry, a peculiar blend that neither Pathan nor Vishnu noticed anymore. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the half-drawn blinds, casting tiger-stripe patterns across the unmade bed where Pathan sprawled, his long legs stretched out, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Vishnu paced the narrow space between the bed and desk, his excitement too electric to allow him to sit still, his face animated as he relived the moment their professor had approached them in the laboratory.



"Man, I didn't think the plan would work out so easily," Pathan said, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling fan that slowly churned the stale air. "Did you see her face when she asked if she would be suitable? Like she couldn't believe we might find her attractive."



Vishnu paused his pacing, a smile spreading across his face that contained equal parts triumph and disbelief. "I know. I almost lost it when she started asking questions. Had to remind myself not to look too eager."



"Do you think she'll actually agree to do it?" Pathan asked, tapping ash into an empty soda can beside the bed. "She seemed interested, but fifteen lakhs is a lot of bullshit to back up if she asks to see the contract."



"She won't," Vishnu replied with confidence, resuming his circuit of the small room. "You heard her—she's 'considering it.' That's professor-speak for 'yes, but I need to pretend I'm thinking about it.'"



"But what if she talks to someone else about it? What if she mentions it to the department head?"



Vishnu shook his head, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "She won't. She's not in terms with her husband—he's been in Dubai for what, almost a year now? She needs no one's permission. No one can control her other than herself."



"Interesting," Pathan murmured, a new calculation visible behind his eyes. "So she's lonely. Neglected. That makes our job easier."



Vishnu's expression darkened slightly. "Just remember, this is my project. I'm the photographer. I can't wait to take photos of her in various poses." His fingers curled as if already holding his camera, already framing Devika's body through the lens. "The way she moves in that saree... it's like watching water flow over stones."



"And I," Pathan replied, his smile widening to reveal perfect white teeth, "am going to act as the male model. I can't believe the intimate poses I'm going to have with her." He stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned abdomen. "Just imagine it—my hands on her waist, my lips on her neck, her body pressed against mine..."



Something flashed in Vishnu's eyes—a sharp, sudden jealousy that he couldn't entirely conceal. He turned away, fiddling with his camera bag on the desk.



"Don't worry," Pathan said, noticing his friend's reaction. "We'll exchange roles as male models between us. No need to worry. You'll get your turn."



Vishnu turned back, his expression carefully neutral now. "It's not about that. I just need these photos to be perfect. The committee—"



"There is no committee," Pathan interrupted, rolling his eyes. "There is no agency, no contract, no fifteen lakhs. There's just us and a professor who's finally starting to see herself as a woman again."



"She'll still expect payment," Vishnu said, lower now, as if someone might overhear.



"We'll figure that out later," Pathan dismissed with another wave. "Maybe we can actually sell some photos to a local brand. Maybe we'll tell her the agency rejected them but we'll pay her a smaller amount from our own pockets." He grinned again. "She'll be so grateful for the attention by then, she probably won't even care."



Vishnu nodded slowly, convinced by this logic, his jealousy momentarily forgotten in the shared conspiracy. "If this works..."



"When this works," Pathan corrected, stubbing out his cigarette with finality. "When."



---



In her apartment across town, Devika stood at the window, watching evening gather in the streets below. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the cool glass as her mind circled back, again and again, to the conversation in the laboratory. Fifteen lakhs. Artistic poses. Intimacy with a male model—with Pathan, her student, whose eyes had followed the sway of her hips for months.



"A professor with a PhD," she whispered to her reflection in the darkening window, "posing for photos like some actress." The glass threw back a woman she was still learning to recognize—not just the professor, the academic, the wife, but something else emerging beneath these familiar labels. Someone with desires that didn't fit neatly into the boxes her upbringing had prepared.



She moved away from the window, her saree whispering against her skin as she paced the small living room. The saree poses seemed manageable, even comfortable. She wore sarees daily, knew how to move in them, how to arrange the fabric to flatter her curves. And strapless blouses, while new territory, weren't so far beyond her experience. She had worn sleeveless blouses before, had felt the cool air against her bare arms, the appreciative glances such styles attracted.



But the intimate poses with a male model—that would be harder. She was unaware what kind of intimate poses might be required, though Vishnu had mentioned hugging and kissing. That meant she would need to allow Pathan to kiss her, to hold her, to touch her body with a familiarity usually reserved for lovers.



"I can't," she said suddenly, stopping her pacing as resolution formed. "I should tell them no tomorrow. This has gone far enough."



But even as the words left her lips, other thoughts intruded. Memories of arguments with Anand before his departure for Dubai—his casual dismissal of her feelings, his multiple affairs barely concealed, his absence from their bed long before his physical absence from their home.



"He didn't want me," she whispered, the old pain still sharp despite the months that had passed. "Didn't desire me, didn't appreciate me."



Yet Vishnu and Pathan did appreciate her beauty—had noticed her movements, had selected her specifically because of how she embodied the grace they sought to capture. Their eyes followed her with hunger that her husband's never had, with admiration that felt like water to parched soil.



"Why not allow them to kiss me?" she asked herself, the question carrying less shock than it would have even a week ago. "Why not feel desired, even if it's just for a camera?"



And the money—fifteen lakhs would solve so many problems. Would give her the security she craved, the independence she needed if her marriage continued its slow collapse into nothingness.



Devika sank onto the sofa, her decision crystallizing with surprising clarity. "Yes," she said to the empty room, her voice stronger now. "I'm ready for whatever comes, within limits."



She would do the photoshoot. Would allow herself to be seen, to be admired, to be touched—not as Professor Devika with her PhD and her careful respectability, but as the woman emerging from beneath that protective shell, the woman who had tasted forbidden pleasures and found herself hungry for more.





# Scene 2



Morning arrived with deceptive normalcy, sunlight filtering through Devika's bedroom curtains in patterns that belied the unusual path her life had taken. She stood before her wardrobe, fingers trailing over the hanging sarees, searching for something that conveyed the appropriate professorial gravity while still acknowledging the new awareness she had of her body as an object of desire. She selected a deep maroon silk with a narrow gold border—conservative enough for the classroom yet rich in color, the fabric catching the light as it moved, drawing the eye to the curves beneath.



As she dbangd the saree around her body, Devika rehearsed what she would say to Vishnu and Pathan. The words formed and reformed in her mind, each version attempting to strike the perfect balance between professional distance and willing participation. She applied her makeup with unusual care, adding an extra sweep of kohl around her eyes, a deeper shade of lipstick than her usual subdued pink.



"It's just a photoshoot," she told her reflection, watching her lips form the words. "Just pictures. Nothing more."



But even as she spoke the reassurance, she knew it was a lie. This was more than pictures—it was a deliberate step across boundaries she had been raised to respect, a conscious choice to be seen not just as an educator but as a woman, with all the dangerous implications that carried.



When she descended the apartment building stairs, her bag clutched in one hand, the pleats of her saree arranged with precise care, Ramlal was already at his post by the entrance. His eyes lifted at the sound of her approach, recognition followed immediately by something darker, more intimate—a knowledge shared between them that transcended their public roles.



"Good morning, madam," he said, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. "You look very nice today. Special occasion?"



"Just a normal day, Ramlal," she replied, her own voice steady despite the memories his presence evoked—of kulfi melting between their tongues, of his saliva in her mouth, of boundaries dissolved in a single evening of exploration.



Ramlal's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile—the smile of a man who had tasted forbidden fruit and found it sweeter than expected. "If you say so, madam." He lowered his voice further. "But perhaps another evening with kulfi soon? I still have many flavors to show you."



Heat rose to Devika's cheeks, not entirely from embarrassment. "Please, Ramlal. Not here." She glanced around the lobby, though they were alone, the words emerging more breathless than she intended. "Someone might hear."



"No one is listening," he assured her, but he straightened, resuming his professional posture. "Have a good day at college, madam."



She nodded, moving past him into the morning sunlight, feeling his eyes following her progress down the street. The weight of his gaze, the knowledge it contained, felt simultaneously burdensome and thrilling—a secret carried just beneath her skin, visible to those who knew where to look.



At the college, the biology laboratory hummed with the familiar sounds of students preparing for their practical session—the clink of glass slides, the soft whir of microscope adjustments, murmured conversations about cellular structures and staining techniques. Devika moved through the space with practiced ease, distributing materials, offering guidance where needed, all while acutely aware of Vishnu and Pathan watching her from their workstation in the corner.



Their anticipation was palpable, barely contained behind the mask of student attentiveness. Pathan's eyes followed her movements with undisguised hunger, while Vishnu fiddled with his pen, tapping it against his notebook in an uneven rhythm that betrayed his nervous energy. They waited until the other students were absorbed in their work before approaching her desk, their expressions carefully collegeed to casual interest despite the tension vibrating between them.



"Professor," Vishnu began, his voice low, "have you had a chance to think about our discussion yesterday?"



Devika looked up from the papers she was arranging, meeting his eager gaze with deliberate calm. "Yes, I have."



"And?" Pathan pressed, leaning forward slightly, his hands braced on the edge of her desk.



She allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, watching anticipation build in their eyes. "I'm afraid my answer is no," she said finally. "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to participate in your project."



The disappointment that crashed across their faces appeared genuine—Vishnu's shoulders slumping, Pathan's expression falling into dismay so profound it seemed almost theatrical.



"I understand," Vishnu said, his voice hollow. "It was presumptuous of me to ask. I'll just have to tell the agency I couldn't find a suitable model."



"And lose the contract," Pathan added, shaking his head. "Twenty-five lakhs. Gone."



Devika looked between them, noting the calculated nature of their dejection, yet finding herself moved by it nonetheless. "I'm sorry. I know how important this opportunity is to you."



Vishnu nodded, already turning away. "It's fine, Professor. I'll figure something out."



"Wait," Devika said, the word escaping before she could reconsider. Both young men turned back, hope flickering in their eyes. "I've been thinking about your situation, about you losing this contract. It doesn't seem fair when I could help."



"What are you saying?" Vishnu asked, caution tempering his obvious excitement.



Devika drew a deep breath, steadying herself for what came next. "I'm saying I'll do it. I'll be your model."



The transformation was immediate—their faces lighting with triumph barely disguised as relief and gratitude. Vishnu actually clasped his hands together, as if in prayer.



"Really, Professor? You'll really do it?" he exclaimed, then immediately lowered his voice when a few students glanced their way. "You won't regret it. I promise I'll make these photos incredible—the committee will be blown away."



"I'm sure they will," Devika said, a hint of dryness in her tone that neither young man seemed to notice. "But I have conditions. This matter stays completely confidential. No one at the college can know about this arrangement."



"Absolutely," Pathan nodded vigorously. "Total secrecy. We promise."



"And the photos themselves," she continued, "must be used only for the purpose we've discussed. The agency selection committee and nowhere else."



"Of course," Vishnu agreed immediately. "That's part of the standard agreement. The images are totally protected."



Devika nodded, the decision settling into her bones with surprising weight. "Good. Then we have an arrangement."



"This is amazing," Vishnu said, unable to contain his excitement. "But we don't have much time. The committee's deadline is approaching fast. We need to start the photoshoot today."



"Today?" Devika repeated, surprised by the urgency. "I have classes until four."



"This evening would work," Vishnu pressed. "After your classes. You could come to my farmhouse—it's just outside the city. I have my photography setup there, with several location spots that would be perfect for the shoot."



Devika hesitated, alarm bells ringing faintly at the suggestion. "Your farmhouse? I'm not sure that's appropriate."



"It's the ideal location," Vishnu insisted. "Private, so no one will see us working together. And it has beautiful natural settings for the outdoor shots. Plus, no one will be there except me and Pathan."



The last point, intended as reassurance, only heightened Devika's unease. Alone with two young men who clearly desired her, far from the city, engaged in an activity that already pushed the boundaries of propriety—every rational instinct urged caution.



"The costumes are already there," Vishnu continued, sensing her hesitation. "You would only need to bring a few of your sleeveless blouses. Everything else will be provided."



"I don't know," Devika said, doubt creeping into her voice.



"Professor," Pathan interjected, his tone softening to something almost sincere, "we understand your concerns. But this is a professional photoshoot for a major campaign. We need the right setting to create images worthy of the brand. And time really is running out."



Devika looked between them, weighing her options. She had already decided to do this, had already crossed the mental boundary that separated professor from model. Did it matter where the photos were taken?



"Alright," she conceded finally. "This evening. But we focus on work—this is a professional arrangement."



"Absolutely," Vishnu agreed, his smile widening. "I'll text you the address. Say, six o'clock?"



"Six o'clock," she confirmed, already wondering what she had committed to, what new threshold she was preparing to cross in this continuing exploration of herself and her boundaries.



"Thank you, Professor," Pathan said, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. "You won't regret this."



As they returned to their workstation, Devika watched them go, noting the subtle triumphant glance they exchanged when they thought she wasn't looking. Whatever game they were playing, she had just agreed to be a participant. The knowledge should have frightened her, should have prompted immediate reconsideration. Instead, she felt only a strange, electric anticipation for what the evening might bring.





# Scene 3



The farmhouse appeared through the dusty windshield of Devika's taxi, a low stone structure nestled among mango trees whose branches hung heavy with unripe fruit. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across the gravel driveway where Vishnu and Pathan already waited, their postures betraying an eagerness that made Devika's stomach tighten with a mixture of apprehension and something else—a dangerous curiosity about what boundaries would be tested in the coming hours. As the taxi crunched to a stop, she gathered her small bag containing the sleeveless blouses she'd been instructed to bring, paid the driver, and stepped into the golden light of approaching evening.



"Professor! You came," Vishnu called, his voice pitched between surprise and delight, as if some part of him had expected her to change her mind. "Welcome to my family's farmhouse."



"Good evening," she replied, her tone deliberately formal, an attempt to establish the professional nature of their arrangement despite the intimate setting. She wore a simple cotton saree in deep blue, chosen for easy removal when changing into whatever outfit they had planned for the shoot.



Pathan stepped forward, taking her bag with a courteous gesture that nevertheless allowed his fingers to brush against hers. "We're so grateful you agreed to help us, Professor. The light today is perfect for what we have planned."



Devika glanced around the property, noting the isolated location. No neighboring houses visible, no witnesses to whatever might transpire here. The realization sent a small shiver down her spine—not entirely of fear.



"Can we start the photoshoot?" she asked, eager to move things along, to get through this strange interlude and return to the safety of her apartment. "I'd like to be home before it gets too late."



"Of course," Vishnu nodded, gesturing toward the house. "But first, there are a few formalities. Please, come inside."



The interior of the farmhouse was surprisingly well-appointed—polished stone floors, comfortable furniture that spoke of family wealth, and at the far end, a space that had been converted into a photography studio with lights, backdrops, and various props. Vishnu led her to a small desk where several documents lay waiting, neatly printed and stacked.



"What's this?" Devika asked, eyeing the papers with growing concern.



"Just standard modeling agreements," Vishnu explained, his tone reassuringly casual. "All professional photoshoots require them. The committee is very particular about these things."



He spread the documents before her, pointing to various sections as he explained. "This one is the standard model release form. This one confirms your agreement to the types of poses we discussed—you know, the more artistic ones. And this one," he hesitated slightly, "is about the timeline and completion requirements."



"Timeline?" Devika repeated, picking up the third document. "What does that mean?"



Vishnu exchanged a quick glance with Pathan before answering. "Well, the committee might request additional shots after seeing the initial set. These clauses just confirm that you agree to complete the full photoshoot process without, um, leaving in the middle. Standard industry practice."



Devika scanned the document, her unease growing as she read phrases like "multiple sessions as required" and "until satisfactory completion as determined by the client." She had imagined this as a one-time event, not an open-ended commitment.



"This suggests the photoshoot might take days or even months," she said, looking up with narrowed eyes.



"Only if necessary," Vishnu assured her quickly. "Most likely they'll love the first set and that will be it. But they need the guarantee that their selected model won't abandon the project halfway through."



"And if I refuse to sign?" Devika asked, her fingers hovering over the pen he had placed beside the papers.



"Then we can't proceed," Pathan interjected, his expression regretful. "The agency was very clear about this. No signed agreements, no photoshoot, no contract."



Devika hesitated, trapped in the momentum of her own decisions. She had come this far—had taken a taxi to this isolated farmhouse, had brought the blouses as instructed, had mentally prepared herself for being photographed in revealing poses. To turn back now felt both prudent and somehow impossible, a surrender to fear just as she was beginning to explore the woman who existed beyond the careful boundaries of Professor Devika.



"Fine," she said finally, taking up the pen. "But I expect copies of everything I sign."



"Of course," Vishnu agreed immediately. "I'll make copies before you leave today."



She signed each document, feeling as though she were signing away more than just image rights—as if each stroke of the pen was a step further from the woman she had been, toward someone unrecognizable yet strangely familiar, a self long buried beneath propriety and expectation.



Vishnu collected the papers with barely concealed eagerness, folding them carefully and placing them in a drawer which he then locked. "Perfect! Now we can begin. Pathan will show you to the changing room while I set up the first shot."



The "changing room" turned out to be a small bedroom with an attached bathroom. Her bag had already been placed on the bed, along with several sarees in rich, jewel tones, their borders heavier with embroidery than anything Devika typically wore.



"We thought we'd start with something simple," Pathan explained, hovering in the doorway. "Just you in the garden, wearing one of these sarees with your sleeveless blouse. Very classic, very elegant."



"I'll be ready in a few minutes," Devika said, her tone making it clear that he should leave.



Pathan nodded, backing out and closing the door. Alone at last, Devika leaned against the wall, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. "Just pictures," she whispered again, the mantra failing to convince even herself.



She changed quickly, selecting a deep green saree from those provided and pairing it with her own black sleeveless blouse. The mirror reflected a woman who looked both familiar and strange—her arms bare, the saree dbangd lower on her hips than she would normally wear it, revealing a sliver of midriff that her professional attire would never show.



When she emerged, Vishnu had set up his camera in the garden, facing a background of flowering jasmine climbing a stone wall. The sweet scent hung in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of recent rain. Pathan stood nearby, his eyes widening appreciatively as she approached.



"Perfect," Vishnu breathed, raising his camera immediately to capture her walking toward them, the evening light catching the gold thread in the saree's border. "Just like that, Professor. Very natural."



The first poses were indeed simple—Devika standing before the jasmine wall, her face turned slightly toward the setting sun; Devika seated on a stone bench, the saree arranged carefully around her; Devika with her hand resting against a tree trunk, looking thoughtfully into the distance. With each click of the shutter, she felt herself relaxing incrementally, lulled by the professionalism Vishnu and Pathan were currently displaying.



"Let's see how these look," Vishnu said after several minutes, reviewing the images on his camera screen. "Yes, beautiful, but now we need something with a bit more... character."



Pathan stepped forward, assuming the role of director. "Madam, for the next set, we need to show your navel," he said, his voice professionally neutral despite the intimate request. "The campaign specifically highlights traditional elements of beauty—the eyes, the waist, the navel."



Devika swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I see."



"Just lower the saree slightly," Pathan demonstrated with his hands, indicating a position just below her navel. "And arrange the pleats to frame it."



Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the saree, folding the waistband lower on her hips, feeling the cool evening air against the exposed skin of her abdomen. Vishnu and Pathan both stared, their expressions freezing momentarily as she revealed this intimate part of herself. Though they recovered quickly, resuming their professional demeanor, Devika had seen the naked desire that flashed across their faces, the momentary lapse that revealed their true intentions.



"Perfect," Vishnu murmured, raising his camera again. "Now, stand with your hands on your hips, arching your back slightly to stretch the torso and accentuate the navel."



Devika complied, feeling oddly powerful despite her vulnerability. The camera clicked rapidly as she held the pose, Vishnu circling to capture different angles, his breathing audibly quicker.



"Excellent," Pathan called, his voice slightly hoarse. "Now, look down, using both hands to 'adjust' the pleats at your waist."



She followed his direction, bending slightly forward, her fingers playing with the fabric that rested just below her navel. The pose felt deliberately provocative, designed to draw attention to the curves of her body, to the exposed flesh that no student should ever see of their professor.



"Beautiful," Vishnu breathed, the word barely audible over the rapid clicking of his camera. "Now with one hand playing with your hair, the other resting near your waist."



The poses progressed, each slightly more revealing than the last, each designed to showcase her body in ways that had nothing to do with the saree and everything to do with the men's desire to see their professor in increasingly suggestive positions. Despite her misgivings, Devika found herself responding to their appreciative gazes, to the undisguised admiration in their eyes as they directed her movements.



"Last pose for this set," Pathan said finally, his voice strained with controlled excitement. "Sit with your navel exposed and only lightly hold the saree border in your mouth."



Devika hesitated, the request crossing a line she hadn't anticipated. "In my mouth?"



"Yes," Pathan nodded, his eyes darkening. "It's a classic pose—suggests both innocence and sensuality. The contrast is what makes it powerful."



She settled onto the bench, arranging the saree as directed, then slowly raised the border to her lips, catching the fabric gently between her teeth. The silk felt cool against her mouth, the position absurdly vulnerable yet undeniably provocative.



Vishnu's camera clicked furiously, capturing the image from multiple angles, his breathing now unmistakably ragged. "Perfect," he kept murmuring, the word becoming a mantra. "Absolutely perfect."



When the final shot was taken, a strange silence fell over the garden. Devika released the fabric from her mouth, allowing it to fall across her shoulder, suddenly aware of how completely she had surrendered to their direction, how willingly she had posed her body for their gaze.



"I think that's enough for today," she said, rising from the bench, adjusting her saree to cover her midriff once more. "You said you'd send these to the committee?"



"Yes," Vishnu nodded, lowering his camera with what seemed like reluctance. "I'll send them tonight and let you know what they say. They might want more... different poses."



"Different how?" Devika asked, though some part of her already knew the answer.



"We'll discuss that when the time comes," Pathan interjected smoothly. "For now, we've got an excellent start. Thank you, Professor."



As Devika changed back into her blue cotton saree, she wondered what exactly she had committed herself to with those signed papers, what further boundaries these young men would ask her to cross in the name of art and commerce. The strangest part was not the apprehension she felt, but the undercurrent of anticipation that accompanied it—a hunger to be seen, to be desired, to explore the woman who emerged when Professor Devika set aside her carefully constructed identity and simply existed in her body, under the admiring gaze of men who saw her as she had never been seen before.