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

[prady12191]

# Scene 1



The studio lights cast a golden sheen across Devika's skin as she struggled to catch her breath, her lips still tingling from Vishnu's unexpected fervor. The taste of paan lingered on her tongue, foreign yet not entirely unpleasant, a physical reminder of boundaries already dissolved beyond recognition. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a voice screamed warnings about propriety, about professional ethics, about sacred vows—but that voice grew fainter with each passing moment in this transformed farmhouse where she had become someone else entirely.



"Beautiful chemistry," Pathan murmured, lowering the camera briefly. His eyes gleamed with something that went beyond professional appreciation, something darker and hungrier that Devika recognized from countless male gazes throughout her life but had rarely seen directed at her with such intensity. "For our next video segment, we need something more... symbolic."



Vishnu's hands still rested lightly on her waist, his thumb tracing idle circles against the exposed skin above her navel. "What did you have in mind?"



Pathan's gaze fixed on the thin gold chain that encircled Devika's neck, the mangalsutra that marked her as a married woman. "Vishnu should remove her mangalsutra with his mouth," he announced, the suggestion falling into the room like a stone into still water. "To represent the complete abandonment of marital boundaries."



The words struck Devika like a physical blow. She had already allowed her marriage symbol to be used in their provocative tableaux—held between teeth, pulled like a leash, captured in Vishnu's mouth—but to have it removed entirely seemed a transgression beyond forgiveness. The mangalsutra was not merely jewelry; it was the physical manifestation of her vows to Anand, the connection that remained even when he had grown distant in Dubai.



"No," she said, the word emerging sharp and sudden. She stepped back from Vishnu's embrace, her hand rising protectively to her throat, fingers curling around the small gold pendant. "That's too far. I need to stop this."



Surprise flickered across both young men's faces—not at her refusal itself, perhaps, but at the firmness with which it was delivered after she had acquiesced to so much already.



"Maam, what happened?" Vishnu asked, his brow furrowing with what appeared to be genuine concern.



Pathan stepped forward, camera lowered, his expression carefully arranged to convey confusion rather than the disappointment that briefly flashed in his eyes. "Did we say something wrong?"



"I can't do this," Devika replied, her voice steadier than she felt as she began gathering the pallu of her saree from where it had fallen during their previous poses. "Using my mangalsutra in photos is one thing, but removing it... that's different. That's a line I won't cross."



The young men exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that spoke of frustration and recalculation. Then Vishnu sighed, running a hand through his hair in apparent resignation.



"I'm sorry, maam," he said, his voice soft with practiced regret. "That's why we were telling you from the beginning that you couldn't perform this. These shoots require professional models who don't have... personal attachments."



His words carried a subtle sting—the implication that she was somehow less than professional, too emotionally entangled to complete what she had started. Devika felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, warming her cheeks.



"Pathan," Vishnu continued, turning to his friend, "backup all the camera files. We'll need to inform the committee that we've failed."



Pathan nodded grimly, moving toward his equipment. "All that money lost," he muttered, just loud enough for Devika to hear. "And no chance to cancel the photoshoot at this stage. We've already spent so much on equipment rental, location fees..."



The guilt settled over Devika like a heavy cloak. She had agreed to this arrangement, had allowed it to progress far beyond what any reasonable person would consider appropriate between professor and students. And now, after they had invested time, money, and hope, she was withdrawing because of a line that seemed arbitrary even to her own conflicted mind.



"No, please, Vishnu," she said before she could reconsider, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. "I'm sorry. I got emotional. It was just... unexpected."



Vishnu turned back to her, hope and skepticism warring in his expression. "No, madam, we hurt your feelings. We can't continue knowing that."



"You've made it clear from the beginning what these photographs would entail," Pathan added, his tone reasonable, measured, the voice of rationality appealing to her sense of fairness. "We respect that you've reached your limit."



Their apparent understanding, their willingness to accept her boundaries despite the cost to themselves, made Devika feel simultaneously relieved and ashamed. They were showing her more consideration than she had shown herself by agreeing to this arrangement in the first place.



"No," she said firmly, decision crystallizing within her. "Give me another chance. I won't stop for any reason this time. I promise."



The triumph that flashed between the young men was barely concealed—a quicksilver gleam quickly masked by expressions of cautious optimism. They had played her perfectly, Devika realized, guiding her emotional responses like experienced conductors leading an orchestra through a complex piece.



Yet knowing this didn't stop her. If anything, it added a strange layer of excitement to her surrender—the recognition that she was being manipulated yet choosing to continue anyway, finding a dark pleasure in her own capitulation.



"Let's keep working together," she said, smoothing her saree with hands that trembled slightly. "I'm committed to seeing this through."



Pathan's smile widened as he raised the camera again. "Excellent. Let's restart where we left off. Vishnu, remove her mangalsutra using your lips."



The studio lights seemed to intensify as Pathan adjusted his position, the camera rising to capture what was to come. "Action," he called, the single word vibrating with anticipation.



Vishnu approached Devika with renewed confidence, a dirty smile playing across his lips that spoke of victory already claimed. He bent slightly, his mouth hovering near her throat where the mangalsutra lay against her skin. His lips parted, teeth capturing the thin gold chain with surprising gentleness. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his head, drawing the chain upward until he reached her face, the pendant dangling between them like forbidden fruit.



Instead of pulling away as her instincts screamed for her to do, Devika leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was neither directed nor scripted, but born from some newly awakened hunger within her that recognized no boundaries. Vishnu responded immediately, raising his head further, drawing the mangalsutra completely from around her neck in a smooth motion that spoke of planning, of anticipation, of moves calculated long before this moment arrived.



The chain hung from his mouth like a trophy, the small gold disk catching the studio lights. In a gesture that surprised even herself, Devika captured the other end of the chain between her own lips, the mangalsutra suspended between them, a bridge connecting mouths that should never have met. They kissed again, more deeply this time, the marriage symbol pressed between their tongues in a desecration that sent shivers of forbidden pleasure through Devika's body.



When they finally separated, Vishnu released the chain into his palm, offering it back to her with unexpected reverence. Devika took it, fingers trembling slightly as she refastened it around her neck, the familiar weight settling against her skin like a silent accusation.



"Perfect chemistry," Pathan breathed, lowering the camera briefly. "Let's take a few videos while we snap the mangalsutra from your neck. Loosen the hook slightly so it will be easier to remove."



With fingers that no longer felt like her own, Devika adjusted the clasp at the back of her neck, making it loose enough to be pulled away without resistance. She felt as if she were preparing for her own execution, yet the anticipation coursing through her veins carried the electric charge of desire rather than dread.



"For this sequence," Pathan continued, his voice taking on the clinical tone of a director, "Devika will run to Vishnu, snapping her mangalsutra herself, throwing it aside, and kissing him passionately. Like she's actively rejecting her marriage for this affair."



Devika nodded, her throat too dry for words. The symbolism wasn't lost on her—she would be the agent of her own transgression, actively removing the symbol of her marriage rather than having it taken from her.



"Action!" Pathan called, camera raised.



Devika moved across the white backdrop with surprising grace, her feet carrying her toward Vishnu as if drawn by magnetic force. Her hand rose to her neck, fingers closing around the mangalsutra. With a quick, decisive motion, she snapped the chain, the gold links giving way with an ease that seemed almost symbolic.



"I don't need this anymore," she declared, tossing the broken chain aside with a flourish that wasn't entirely acting. She threw herself into Vishnu's arms, her mouth finding his with hungry precision.



They kissed with a passion that transcended performance, bodies pressed together in an embrace that spoke of genuine desire rather than merely simulated intimacy. Vishnu's hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with confident strokes that left her breathless.



When they finally separated, Devika retrieved the discarded mangalsutra, clutching it in her palm like a talisman—a reminder of the reality that waited beyond this farmhouse, beyond this strange interlude where she had become someone unrecognizable to herself.



"Now for our final sequence," Pathan announced, adjusting the camera settings. "Vishnu, stand behind Devika, snap her mangalsutra, and kiss her neck passionately."



Vishnu moved into position behind her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath warm against her neck. His fingers found the clasp of her recently reattached mangalsutra, working it open with practiced ease.



"No, please don't do this," Devika whispered, the words emerging as part of their performance yet carrying an undertone of genuine conflict that surprised her.



"I'll replace your mangalsutra with my lips," Vishnu murmured against her ear, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers cascading down her spine. The chain fell away from her neck, caught in his waiting hand.



His mouth descended to the newly bared skin, lips pressing against the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder. The kiss was not gentle—it was possessive, hungry, his teeth grazing her flesh in a way that would surely leave marks, evidence of this encounter that would remain after the cameras stopped rolling.



Devika moaned, the sound escaping unbidden as pleasure radiated from the point of contact, spreading through her body in waves that left her weak-kneed and wanting. She tilted her head to the side, offering more of herself to his attention, all pretense of resistance abandoned.



In this moment, with her mangalsutra held in Vishnu's hand and his lips marking her skin, Devika crossed a line from which there could be no return—not just in action but in desire, in the willing surrender to sensations she had denied herself for too long.





# Scene 2





Devika's neck tingled where Vishnu's lips had been, the ghost of his kiss lingering on her skin like a brand. The mangalsutra lay coiled in his palm—removed, replaced, removed again in a dizzying cycle of transgression and restoration that left her feeling untethered from the woman she had been just days ago. Each new suggestion from Pathan seemed designed to push her further beyond the boundaries of propriety, yet she found herself nodding, agreeing, hungry for whatever came next in this strange journey of self-discovery disguised as a photoshoot.



"Let's change the setup," Pathan announced, gesturing toward a low sofa that had been positioned against the white backdrop. "Vishnu, sit on the sofa. Devika maam, you'll sit on his lap with your knees around him."



Vishnu moved obediently to the sofa, lowering himself onto its center. He looked up at Devika with an expression of barely contained anticipation, his lips still glistening from their kisses, his eyes dark with desire that no longer pretended to be merely performative.



Devika hesitated for only a moment before approaching him. The high heels she still wore made her movements more deliberate, her hips swaying with each step in a way that drew both young men's gazes like magnets. She positioned herself before Vishnu, gathering her saree slightly to allow for the movement, then slowly lowered herself onto his lap.



The position was shockingly intimate—her knees on either side of his hips, her body pressed against his, their faces level and close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. The tightly wrapped green silk of her saree pulled taut across her thighs as she settled into position.



"Vishnu, just hold her ass for support," Pathan directed, his voice carrying a strained quality that betrayed his affected clinical tone.



Vishnu's hands, which had been hovering uncertainly near her waist, moved downward with cautious deliberation. They settled on the curves of her buttocks, fingers spreading wide to cup the flesh through the silk of her saree. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet studio—surprise and appreciation mingling in the sound.



"So soft," he murmured, the words barely audible, meant for her alone. "So plump."



Devika felt a flush of heat spread across her skin at his touch, at his words. The strange intimacy of having her student's hands on her buttocks—cupping, supporting, appreciating—sent conflicting waves of embarrassment and arousal through her body. This was beyond kissing, beyond the passionate embraces they had already shared. This was a deliberate, prolonged touch in a place that even Anand rarely explored with such obvious appreciation.



"Now I need you to hold the mangalsutra dollar between your tongues," Pathan instructed, adjusting his camera angle to capture their faces in profile. "Extended tongues, the pendant balanced between them."



Devika lifted the mangalsutra from around her neck once more, holding the small gold pendant between her fingers. She extended her tongue—pink, moist, slightly pointed at the tip—and placed the gold disk upon it, feeling its cool metallic weight.



Vishnu stared at her extended tongue with unconcealed fascination, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He leaned forward, his own tongue emerging to meet hers—darker, wider, marked with the faint stains of paan. The contrast between their tongues was stark—hers clean and pink, his bearing the evidence of habits she would have found repulsive just days ago.



The gold disk balanced precariously between them, supported by the wet surfaces of their extended tongues. Devika felt a drop of saliva gathering beneath her tongue, threatening to fall as she maintained the unnatural position. Vishnu's eyes remained locked with hers, communicating something primal that transcended their ostensible roles as professor and student, model and photographer's assistant.



"Perfect," Pathan breathed, the camera clicking rapidly. "The mangalsutra suspended between Kerala purity and local flavor. Symbolic. Powerful."



The pendant stood balanced on their tongues, neither fully possessing it, both supporting it in a strange communion that felt more intimate than their previous kisses. Devika was acutely aware of every sensation—the pressure of Vishnu's hands on her buttocks, the heat of his thighs beneath hers, the proximity of their tongues, almost but not quite touching around the gold disk that represented her marriage.



"Maam," Pathan said after capturing several shots from different angles, "the next pose will be a little awkward, but we have to do this to attract the committee." He lowered the camera slightly, his expression serious. "It's something more... primal. More transgressive."



"I'm ready for anything," Devika heard herself say, the words emerging with a conviction that surprised even her. How far she had come from the woman who had balked at the suggestion of removing her mangalsutra—now she sat astride her student's lap, offering blanket permission for whatever might come next.



Pathan nodded, a flash of something like respect—or perhaps surprise at her acquiescence—crossing his features. "Okay then, let's do this. Maam, you'll hold your mangalsutra dollar in your palm. Vishnu will spit on the dollar, and then you'll lick and eat his spit from the mangalsutra."



The suggestion hung in the air between them, so outrageous that for a moment Devika wondered if she had misheard. Exchanging saliva through kissing was one thing—deliberate, direct consumption of another's spit was something else entirely, something that crossed from the merely inappropriate into the realm of the truly taboo.



Yet even as her mind registered shock, Devika felt a strange heat unfurling in her belly. She remembered Ramlal, the security guard whose saliva she had requested, had swallowed with deliberate pleasure just days ago. This would be different only in the medium of exchange—the mangalsutra rather than direct mouth-to-mouth contact.



"Okay," she said simply, her voice steady despite the thundering of her pulse in her ears.



Pathan raised his camera again, adjusting the focus. "Action," he called, the word carrying the weight of a command.



Devika extended her palm, the mangalsutra dollar resting in the center like an offering. She turned her hand toward Vishnu, presenting the symbol of her marriage for his desecration.



"After this, you won't need this anymore," Vishnu said, his voice pitched low enough that the camera's microphone might not catch the words.



Then, with deliberate slowness, he gathered saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto her palm. The wetness landed on the gold pendant, a small puddle of paan-tinged moisture that glistened under the studio lights. The tobacco-stained saliva, darker than she had expected, spread across the gold surface, transforming the sacred symbol into something profane.



Without giving herself time to reconsider, Devika raised her palm to her mouth. Her eyes locked with Vishnu's as she extended her tongue, making contact with the mixture of saliva and metal. The taste was complex—the metallic flavor of gold mingling with the bitterness of paan, the earthy undertones of tobacco, and something uniquely Vishnu's that she couldn't name but recognized from their kisses.



She didn't merely taste it—she lapped at the wetness with broad strokes of her tongue, gathering every drop from her palm, from the surface of the pendant. Then, with a deliberate motion that went beyond Pathan's instructions, she took the entire gold disk into her mouth, sucking it clean with audible intensity.



When she finally swallowed, the action was deliberate, visible, her throat working to consume what should have disgusted her but instead sent waves of dark pleasure coursing through her body.



The script called for nothing more, yet Devika found herself leaning forward, capturing Vishnu's mouth with her own. The kiss was not performance but genuine hunger—a desire to taste him directly, to mingle her saliva with his in a more intimate exchange than the one they had just shared. His hands tightened on her buttocks, pulling her closer against him as he responded with equal fervor.



"Beautiful," Pathan commented when they finally separated, seemingly unfazed by their deviation from his directions. "Natural chemistry. The committee will be impressed by the authenticity."



Vishnu's hands remained on her buttocks, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh with growing confidence. The awkwardness that had characterized his initial touch had dissolved completely, replaced by proprietary appreciation that made Devika acutely aware of her body, of its curves and hollows and the pleasure it could both give and receive.



"Maam," Pathan said, setting his camera down briefly, "so far we have taken every photo with the saree fully dbangd. Now we need to slowly move to the next level."



"Next level?" Devika asked, though she already suspected what he meant. The words emerged slightly breathless, her lips still tingling from Vishnu's kiss.



"It will be without the saree," he clarified, watching her face carefully for signs of resistance. "Not completely, of course, but we need to see more. The blouse, the waist, the navel without the pallu covering it."



Heat flooded Devika's face at the suggestion. To be photographed in her blouse, with her midriff fully exposed—this was different from the glimpses that had been visible during their previous poses. This would be deliberate exposure, documented, captured for others to see.



"Okay," she heard herself agree, the decision made almost before she had fully processed the implications.



"Perfect," Pathan nodded, raising his camera again. "Let's have Vishnu hold your pallu in his mouth. Remove your shoulder pin and offer him the end."



With trembling fingers, Devika reached for the small pin that secured her pallu to her shoulder. The metallic click as it opened seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet studio. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the pin free, feeling the weight of the fabric immediately begin to slide from her shoulder.



Rather than allowing it to fall completely, she gathered the silken edge, offering it to Vishnu as directed. He opened his mouth, teeth closing gently around the green fabric, his eyes never leaving hers as he accepted this new intimacy.



As he took the pallu between his teeth, the fabric pulled away from her body entirely, exposing her blouse to the studio lights, to the camera, to both young men's appreciative gaze. The sleeveless blouse clung to her curves, the modest neckline still revealing more than had been visible before—the gentle swell of her breasts, the definition of her collarbones, the smooth golden skin of her shoulders and arms.



Vishnu's eyes darkened as they took in the sight, his breath coming faster through his nose as he maintained his grip on her pallu. She felt his hands tighten on her buttocks, a reflexive response to the visual feast suddenly presented to him.



Pathan's camera clicked rapidly, capturing her partially disrobed state from multiple angles. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice thicker than before. "The ample cleavage is visible even with the modest neckline. The suggestion is more powerful than explicit exposure."



Devika felt herself flush at his clinical assessment of her body, at the knowledge that both young men could see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, could note the way the fabric stretched across her breasts. Yet beneath the embarrassment ran a darker current of pleasure—pride in their obvious appreciation, in the power her body held over them even in this seemingly vulnerable position.



Vishnu continued to hold her pallu between his teeth, his eyes fixed on her blouse-covered breasts as if memorizing every detail, every curve and shadow. The green silk hung from his mouth like a captured flag, a symbol of territories conquered and boundaries dissolved.



# Scene 3





Vishnu's teeth still held the edge of Devika's pallu, the green silk hanging from his mouth like a trophy while Pathan's camera continued its rhythmic clicking. The studio lights felt warmer now, almost intimate in their golden glow, transforming the improvised set into something that resembled a stage where Devika was both performer and audience—watching herself cross boundaries she had once thought immutable while simultaneously experiencing the transgression with every nerve ending in her body.



"For our next sequence," Pathan announced, lowering his camera briefly, "we'll shoot video. Vishnu, you'll corner Devika against the wall, pin her hands above her head with one hand, and place your other hand on her bare waist." His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he continued, "Her pallu will be trapped between her chest and yours while you kiss her. Intensely."



The directive hung in the air between them, laden with implications that went beyond their previous poses. This wasn't merely suggestive—it was explicitly dominating, a tableau of power and surrender that made Devika's heart race with a complex mixture of apprehension and dark excitement.



"Stand over there," Pathan instructed, gesturing toward an empty section of wall. "Vishnu, approach her slowly, with purpose. Devika maam, back away as if reluctant, until you have nowhere left to go."



They moved into position, Devika's high heels clicking against the floor as she took her mark. The pallu that had been in Vishnu's mouth now hung loosely over her shoulder, partially covering her blouse again, though far less securely than before. Vishnu stood several paces away, his expression transforming into something predatory, focused, a hunter who had already sighted his prey.



"Action," Pathan called, raising the camera to capture what would unfold.



Vishnu began walking toward her with measured steps, his voice dropping to a register Devika had never heard in the classroom. "Today I am not going to leave without tasting your lips," he declared, each word carrying weight beyond the script they were ostensibly following.



Devika felt her body responding to his approach, to the hunger in his eyes, to the promise in his words. She took a step backward, then another, playing her part in this dance of pursuit and evasion. "No, please," she protested, her voice breathy and unconvincing even to her own ears. "My husband may come."



The mention of her husband—even in this scripted scenario—sent a strange pang through her chest. Anand, distant in Dubai, would never recognize the woman she had become in this farmhouse, the desires she had discovered beneath layers of propriety and duty.



Her back hit the wall, the coolness of it seeping through her blouse, a stark contrast to the heat building within her body. "Please," she whispered, raising her hands in a gesture of feeble resistance, pushing against Vishnu's chest as he closed the final distance between them.



"Your husband doesn't have time to taste these lips," Vishnu replied, his improvised dialogue carrying a sting of truth that made Devika's breath catch. His hands moved with unexpected speed, capturing both her wrists and raising them above her head, pinning them against the wall with one strong hand.



The position forced her body into an arch, her chest thrust slightly forward, her arms stretched upward, exposing the sides of her breasts, the curve where they met her armpits. Vishnu's eyes traveled the length of her body, taking in the vulnerability of her stance, the way the pose emphasized every feminine line.



"You can't escape, you sexy Kerala beauty," he murmured, his free hand finding her waist, fingers spreading against the bare skin above her saree. The heat of his palm burned against her flesh, possessive in its gentle pressure.



His body pressed against hers, chest to chest, the fabric of her pallu caught between them as he had orchestrated. "Show me your lovely assets," he continued, his dialogue becoming more confident, more aggressive.



With a sudden movement, he pulled at her pallu, not removing it entirely but dislodging it further, causing it to slip down between their bodies until it was trapped only by the pressure of his chest against hers. The action exposed more of her blouse, more of the curves it contained, to Pathan's relentlessly recording camera.



Devika found herself breathing hard, each inhalation pressing her chest more firmly against Vishnu's, each exhalation a surrender to the moment unfolding between them. Her eyes locked with his, finding something there that went beyond performance—genuine desire, yes, but also a question, a seeking of permission for what would come next.



She gave the slightest nod, barely perceptible, yet enough to unleash him. Vishnu leaned forward, sealing his lips over hers with an intensity that surprised her despite everything they had already shared. This was no tentative exploration, no gentle questioning, but a claiming—his mouth moving against hers with demanding pressure, his tongue pushing past her lips without waiting for invitation.



Devika yielded completely, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue meeting his in wet, sliding contact that sent waves of heat cascading through her body. She tasted paan again, stronger now, mingling with the lingering flavor of his saliva that she had consumed from her mangalsutra minutes earlier. The combination should have repulsed her; instead, it fueled her response, her tongue tangling with his in increasingly bold strokes.



His hand at her waist moved lower, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip, then sliding around to the small of her back, pulling her more firmly against him. The pressure of his body trapped her completely between masculine heat and the unyielding wall, a sweet imprisonment that made her moan into his mouth.



When he finally released her lips, Devika found herself gasping for air, her chest heaving against his, her wrists still captured in his grip above her head. A thin strand of saliva connected their mouths for a moment before breaking, a glistening evidence of their shared passion.



"Cut!" Pathan called, lowering the camera with visible reluctance. "That was... perfect. Exactly the authenticity we need. Kudos, Devika maam."



Vishnu released her wrists slowly, his hands trailing down her raised arms in a caress that sent shivers across her skin. Her arms felt heavy as she lowered them, blood rushing back into fingers that had grown numb from their extended position. She smiled at Pathan's praise, absurdly pleased by his approval despite the circumstances, tasting Vishnu's paan-flavored saliva around her lips.



"Next," Pathan continued, adjusting the camera settings, "we'll shoot a different scenario. Maam, in this video, you'll be talking to your husband on the phone. Vishnu will come up behind you unexpectedly, drop your pallu, and kiss your neck and shoulders. You'll act shocked but continue your conversation, pretending nothing is happening."



The scenario struck Devika as particularly transgressive—not just the physical intimacy with Vishnu, but the direct incorporation of her husband into the fantasy, the deliberate deception even within this fictional framework. Yet she found herself nodding, accepting the premise without protest.



Pathan handed her a phone—her own, she realized, which he must have taken from her bag while she was changing earlier. "Just talk naturally," he instructed. "Say whatever comes to mind, as if you're having a real conversation with your husband."



Devika took the phone with slightly trembling fingers, positioning it against her ear as Pathan readied the camera. Vishnu moved away, preparing to enter the frame from behind her as directed.



"Action," Pathan called softly.



Devika began speaking, her voice sounding strange to her own ears as she fabricated a conversation with Anand. "Yes, everything is fine here," she said, trying to imagine what she might actually discuss with her husband. "The weather has been pleasant. The students are preparing for their exams."



Her words felt hollow, disconnected from the reality of what she had been doing with two of those students for the past hours. As she continued the one-sided conversation, she sensed movement behind her—Vishnu approaching silently, his presence announced only by the subtle shift in the air against her skin.



"I've been thinking about visiting my parents next month," she continued, her voice catching slightly as she felt Vishnu's arms encircle her waist from behind. "What do you think?"



His touch was gentle but confident, hands settling at her midriff, fingers splayed across the bare skin above her saree. She felt him press against her from behind, his chest warm against her back, his breath tickling the nape of her neck where loose strands of hair had escaped her bun.



With deliberate slowness, he slid his fingers beneath the edge of her pallu where it rested on her shoulder. The fabric surrendered easily to his touch, slipping away to reveal her blouse once more, the sleeveless cut exposing her arms completely to the studio lights, to the camera's unforgiving eye.



"The department meeting went well," Devika continued, fighting to keep her voice steady as Vishnu's lips made contact with the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. The warmth of his mouth against her bare skin sent shivers racing down her spine, pooling as liquid heat low in her belly.



His kisses moved upward along the column of her neck, then across to her shoulder, teeth grazing gently against flesh that had known only her husband's touch for years. Devika felt her eyelids growing heavy, her words becoming disjointed as pleasure threatened to overwhelm her concentration on the pretend conversation.



She felt Vishnu press his groin against her buttocks, the hardness of him unmistakable through the layers of fabric separating them. The evidence of his arousal should have alarmed her; instead, it sent a thrill of feminine power coursing through her veins—the knowledge that she, Devika, had caused this reaction, had reduced her student to this state of obvious need.



"Not now, please," she whispered, pressing the phone's speaker against her palm to muffle her words, stepping out of the pretend conversation momentarily to address Vishnu directly.



His only response was to tighten his grip on her waist, to press more firmly against her, to increase the intensity of his kisses along her neck. She felt his tongue tracing patterns on her skin, leaving cool trails that quickly warmed in the studio air.



"Cut!" Pathan called finally, lowering the camera with visible reluctance. "Perfect. The contrast between your calm conversation and your body's response to Vishnu's touch was exactly what we needed."



Devika lowered the phone, her hand slightly unsteady. Vishnu remained behind her, his arms still encircling her waist, his lips hovering near her ear as if reluctant to break contact entirely. She could feel his heart hammering against her back, matching the rapid rhythm of her own.



"The video came out beautifully," Pathan continued, reviewing the footage on the camera's small screen. "Your expressions were perfect—trying to maintain composure while clearly affected by his touch."



Vishnu slowly released her, stepping back with obvious reluctance. Devika stood still, acutely aware that her pallu remained down, her blouse exposed to both young men's appreciative gaze. Their eyes tracked over her form with unconcealed hunger, taking in details they had glimpsed before but now had full opportunity to study—the precise curve of her shoulders, the definition of her collarbones, the way her blouse stretched across her breasts with each breath.



She reached for her pallu, intending to restore it to its proper position, to reclaim some semblance of modesty after these increasingly intimate exchanges.



"Maam," Pathan said quickly, stopping her with a raised hand, "you can wrap your pallu around your hips if you'd like, but I'd suggest remaining palluless for our next few videos and photos. The committee specifically mentioned wanting to see more... authentic expressions of Indian beauty."



Devika hesitated, her fingers still touching the silk fabric that could cover her, could restore at least the appearance of propriety. The request—to deliberately remain partially disrobed for the remainder of the session—seemed to cross yet another boundary. Yet after everything they had already done, after the kisses and touches and salivary exchanges, what difference did this visible testament to their intimacy really make?



With a slow nod, she released the pallu, allowing it to hang loosely at her side rather than attempting to restore it to her shoulder. The liberation felt strange—frightening yet oddly freeing, as if in this small act of continued exposure she was shedding not just fabric but layers of restraint that had bound her for years.



Vishnu's eyes darkened as he watched her decision, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth—triumph mingled with genuine appreciation for what she was offering. Pathan raised his camera again, capturing her in this moment of deliberate vulnerability, her blouse now a permanent feature of their visual record rather than something glimpsed between orchestrated wardrobe malfunctions.



The photoshoot would continue, boundaries would continue to dissolve, and Devika found herself not dreading but anticipating what might come next in this strange journey of self-discovery disguised as art, as commerce, as fifteen lakhs that seemed increasingly beside the point.