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

[prady12191]

For several days, Devika's life settled into an uneasy calm. Vishnu and Pathan had turned their attention to their studies, their usual predatory gazes replaced by an unusual focus on textbooks and lab work. Even Seenu had been preoccupied with administrative duties, leaving Devika with unexpected breathing room. She welcomed this reprieve, using the time to gather her scattered thoughts and regain some semblance of professional composure.

On Wednesday afternoon, as students filtered out of the biology lab, Devika noticed an older man lingering in the corridor. Short and slightly stooped, with a weathered face and rough, work-stained hands, he stood out among the college crowd. His clothes were faded but clean, and his eyes—searching, intent—reminded her of someone.

The man approached Vishnu, who had just exited the classroom. They spoke briefly, their conversation punctuated by gestures in Devika's direction. Vishnu nodded, pointing toward her while speaking rapidly in Marathi. The older man's gaze fixed on Devika, his eyes widening slightly as they traveled over her form, lingering on the curves visible beneath her saree.

Devika busied herself with her notes, pretending not to notice their attention. Through lowered lashes, she saw Vishnu lead the man away, their heads bent in conversation.

Later, as she gathered her belongings, Vishnu appeared at her desk.

Vishnu: "Madam, that was my father. He came to see where I study."

Devika looked up, her heart skipping inexplicably. "Your father? I didn't know he visited the college."

Vishnu: "First time, madam. He wanted to meet the professors who teach me. Especially after seeing my improved grades."

His eyes held a hint of mischief, reminding her of their bargain and its intimate rewards. Heat rose to her cheeks as she adjusted her saree pallu over her shoulder.

"I see," she replied carefully. "It's good he takes interest in your education."

Vishnu: "He asked about you specifically, madam. I told him you're my biology teacher from Kerala."

Devika stiffened. "You discussed me with your father?"

Vishnu: "Not like that, madam." He lowered his voice. "Just that you're a good teacher. That you help me understand... biology."

The word hung between them, laden with unspoken meaning. Devika gathered her papers more hurriedly, uncomfortable with this new development.

"Well, I hope you're continuing to focus on your studies," she said firmly. "That was our agreement."

Vishnu: "Yes, madam. I remember everything."



In a small, cluttered apartment across town, Dattu sat at his kitchen table, a glass of cheap whiskey in his calloused hand. The evening shadows stretched across the room as Vishnu prepared a simple meal of dal and rice.

"That Kerala teacher," Dattu said suddenly, breaking the silence. "She's something else."

Vishnu glanced up from the stove. "Professor Devika? Yes, she's a good teacher."

"Not talking about her teaching," Dattu snorted, taking another sip. "Those eyes... that waist... the way she walks. Don't see women like that around here."

Vishnu stirred the dal slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. He had expected this reaction—had counted on it, even. No man had ever seen Devika and remained unaffected.

"She's married," Vishnu said casually. "Her husband works in Dubai."

Dattu's eyebrows rose. "Dubai? So she's alone here?"

"Completely alone," Vishnu confirmed, serving the dal into bowls. "Lives in the college quarters. No family, no friends really. Just her work."

Dattu's weathered face creased in thought, his eyes distant. "These Kerala women... they're different. More... what's the word? Sensual. Even when they're being proper."

Vishnu placed the food on the table and sat across from his father. "She's very proper in class," he said, watching his father's reaction carefully. "But sometimes... sometimes she's different."

Dattu leaned forward, interest piqued. "Different how?"

Vishnu hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. "We were in the boys' toilet one day. She let me see her... touch her waist. Even let me kiss her navel."

Dattu's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're lying."

"I swear it happened," Vishnu insisted, meeting his father's skeptical gaze. "She even... she took care of me. With her mouth."

Dattu's glass froze halfway to his lips. He stared at his son, searching for signs of deception. Finding none, he set the glass down slowly.

"A proper Kerala professor? Did that to you?"

Vishnu nodded solemnly. "I can prove it. Ask her about the mole on her left hipbone. She has a small brown mole there. Only someone who's seen her undressed would know."

Dattu's breath quickened, his imagination racing with possibilities. He drained his glass in one swift motion.

"I want that," he said finally, his voice rough with desire. "I want what you had."

Vishnu served himself some rice, his movements deliberately casual. "It's not that simple, Papa. She trusts me because I'm her student. I earned it by studying hard, improving my grades."

Dattu drummed his fingers on the table, his mind working. "There must be a way."

"Maybe," Vishnu said thoughtfully. "But you can't just ask her. She'd be offended, might even report you. With these women, especially teachers, you need to be... strategic."

"Tell me how," Dattu demanded, refilling his glass.

Vishnu pushed his food around his plate. "She responds to sympathy. And to people who need her help." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She's kind-hearted. If she thought someone was struggling, was in pain..."

"Like a sick old man?" Dattu suggested, catching on quickly.

Vishnu nodded. "Exactly. She'd want to help. That's how it starts—with her feeling needed. Then, once she trusts you, once she lets her guard down..."

"She might show the same... kindness... she showed you," Dattu finished, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face.

"It would take time," Vishnu warned. "Patience. You couldn't rush her or scare her off."

Dattu's eyes gleamed with determination. "For a woman like that? With curves like hers? I can be patient."

Vishnu observed his father's expression—the naked hunger there so similar to his own when he'd first noticed Professor Devika. Something primal and possessive stirred in him; he hadn't anticipated his father's interest would be quite so intense.

"Just remember," Vishnu said carefully, "she's still my professor. My grades depend on her."

Dattu waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I won't do anything to hurt your studies. But a woman like that, living alone... she has needs too. Needs her Dubai husband isn't meeting."

Vishnu nodded, though a flicker of uncertainty passed through him. He'd opened a door he wasn't entirely sure he wanted his father to walk through. Yet the thought of Devika—proud, proper Devika—being desired by both father and son sparked something darkly thrilling in him.

"We'll find a way," Dattu said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I want to taste what you tasted."