Fantasy Devika, a rich high class housewife, with angel heart
The next morning, Devika stood before her wardrobe mirror, arranging her hair with mechanical precision. Her reflection stared back with hollow eyes that betrayed her sleepless night. The memory of yesterday's transgression with Pathan burned through her thoughts—his tobacco-laced kisses, her own shameful response, the weight of his body against hers. Each recollection sent waves of conflicting emotions through her: disgust, guilt, and beneath it all, a disturbing undercurrent of arousal that she couldn't entirely suppress.

She had spent hours scrubbing her lips, as if she could wash away the evidence of what had happened. Yet the memory remained imprinted on her skin, a phantom sensation that wouldn't fade.

Devika chose her attire carefully—a conservative saree in deep maroon with a high-necked blouse. The pallu was dbangd firmly across her chest and pinned securely at her shoulder, an armor against predatory eyes. Her movements were deliberate as she applied a darker shade of lipstick than usual, somehow hoping it might erase the memory of Pathan's mouth against hers.

The college corridors seemed to stretch endlessly as she made her way to class. Each step required conscious effort. She felt exposed, as if her transgression were visible to everyone she passed. Surely they could see it written across her face—the teacher who had kissed her student.

As she entered the classroom, her eyes automatically sought Pathan's usual seat, finding it empty. A small measure of relief washed over her. At least she wouldn't have to face him immediately.

She had just settled her notes on the desk when a familiar voice made her stomach clench.

"Good morning, madam."

Vishnu stood at the classroom door, his thin frame leaning against the doorjamb with studied casualness. Unlike his friend's brash demeanor, Vishnu's predatory nature was disguised beneath a veneer of politeness.

"Good morning," Devika replied, her voice carefully neutral as she busied herself arranging papers that needed no arrangement.

Vishnu approached her desk, glancing around the empty classroom. They were alone—the first students wouldn't arrive for another fifteen minutes. His eyes traveled over her face, lingering on her lips with uncomfortable intensity.

"Pathan told me about yesterday," he said, his voice low and intimate. "About the lab."

Devika's heart hammered against her ribcage. The pen in her hand froze mid-motion.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice tighter than she intended.

Vishnu's lips curved into a knowing smile. "He said you kissed him back. That your lips taste sweet, like honey."

Blood drained from Devika's face. Pathan had promised. He had sworn not to tell anyone.

"That's a disgusting lie," she hissed, finding her voice at last. "Your friend tried to force himself on me. I should report him to the principal."

"But you won't," Vishnu replied, his voice soft with certainty. "Because something happened in that lab. Something you're ashamed of."

Devika's fingers gripped the edge of her desk until her knuckles whitened. "Get out. Class doesn't start for fifteen minutes."

Instead of leaving, Vishnu stepped closer. His eyes, unlike Pathan's lustful stare, held something more calculated—a cold assessment that made her skin crawl.

"It's not fair," he said quietly. "Pathan always gets what he wants first."

The implication in his words sent a chill through her body.

"I'm warning you, Vishnu. Step back immediately."

"I just want what he got," Vishnu continued as if she hadn't spoken. "One kiss. That's all I'm asking for."

Devika stared at him, incredulous. "Have you lost your mind? I am your professor!"

"And you were Pathan's professor too," he countered. "That didn't stop you yesterday."

Anger flared through her veins, momentarily eclipsing her fear. "Get out! Now!"

Vishnu didn't move. "I've always been more interested in you than Pathan was. He just wanted to conquer you. I actually admire you."

His twisted logic made her stomach turn. Yet beneath her revulsion, she felt an unwelcome flicker of curiosity. Where Pathan had been all brute force and unchecked desire, Vishnu's approach was methodical, almost surgical in its precision.

"I won't kiss you," she said firmly. "What happened yesterday was a mistake that will never be repeated."

Vishnu studied her face, his gaze lingering on the high collar of her blouse, the carefully pinned pallu.

"Then show me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Show you what?" Devika demanded, though something in her already knew the answer.

"If you won't kiss me, at least let me see what's beneath that pallu. Just once."

The audacity of his request left her speechless. Her hand instinctively moved to the fabric covering her chest, clutching it tighter.

"Get out before I call security," she threatened.

"We both know you won't," Vishnu replied with disturbing confidence. "Just like you won't report Pathan."

Devika felt trapped in a nightmare that was spiraling beyond her control.

"What exactly are you asking me to do?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Remove your pallu," Vishnu said, his eyes gleaming. "Let me see your figure without it."

"You're asking a professor to expose herself to a student?" Disbelief colored her tone. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"I'm not asking you to undress," Vishnu clarified, his calm demeanor making the request seem almost reasonable. "Just show me what's beneath your pallu. The curves Pathan got to feel yesterday."

Devika felt a surge of anger mixed with a confusing undercurrent of something else—perhaps the dangerous thrill of being desired so intensely, even if it was wrong.

"This is completely inappropriate," she said, though her voice lacked the conviction it should have carried.

"Meet me somewhere private," Vishnu pressed. "The staff room toilet, perhaps. Five minutes, that's all I ask."

"The toilet?" Devika couldn't keep the shock from her voice. "You expect me to stand in a bathroom with you without my pallu?"

"It's private. No one will know." His eyes never left hers. "Unless you prefer my home? I live alone in a flat near the market."

"Absolutely not," she replied immediately.

"Then the toilet. During lunch break."

Devika shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

"Five minutes," Vishnu repeated. "No touching—I promise. I just want to see."

The pragmatic part of her brain screamed at her to end this conversation immediately, to report both students for sexual harassment. Yet some deeper, more primitive part hesitated. The memory of yesterday's forbidden pleasure flickered through her mind—the way her body had responded, the way she had felt alive for the first time in months.

"Why should I agree to any of this?" she asked.

"Because you're curious," Vishnu replied simply. "Because your husband ignores you, and you deserve to be seen."

His words struck a nerve, piercing through her defenses with uncanny accuracy.

"If I agree—and I'm not saying I will—where exactly would this... this viewing take place?" she asked, unable to believe the words coming from her own mouth.

"The staff toilet on the third floor. No one uses it during lunch hour."

Devika swallowed hard, her throat dry. "And you promise not to touch me?"

"I promise," Vishnu said, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Just five minutes of looking. That's all."

The first students began filtering into the classroom, ending their conversation. Vishnu backed away, his eyes holding hers for one final moment.

"Lunch break," he whispered before turning to take his seat.

Throughout the morning lecture, Devika's mind raced. Each time she glanced up from her notes, she found Vishnu watching her, his gaze steady and knowing. Unlike Pathan's obvious lust, Vishnu's interest felt more insidious, more dangerous.

As the lunch bell rang and students filed out, Devika remained at her desk, paralyzed by indecision. The sensible course was clear—avoid the meeting, report both students, protect her career and dignity. Yet she found herself gathering her papers with trembling hands, her feet carrying her toward the third floor.

What was happening to her? Was she really considering this madness? She told herself she was going to confront him, to firmly end this inappropriate behavior once and for all. But deep down, she recognized the lie in her own thoughts.

As she climbed the stairs to the third floor, Devika felt as though she were watching herself from a distance—a woman she no longer recognized, walking steadily toward a line she had promised herself never to cross again.
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RE: Devika, a rich high class housewife, with angel heart - by prady12191 - 20-10-2025, 05:42 AM



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