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

[prady12191]

The rain pattered against Devika's window, each drop a reminder of how life had changed since she arrived in Pune. She sat on her bed, staring at her phone as it lit up with Rajeevan's name. After weeks of ignored messages and missed calls, he was finally contacting her. Her heart quickened as she answered.

"Hello?" Her voice betrayed more eagerness than she intended.

Rajeevan's voice came through, honey-sweet as always when he wanted something. "Devika, how are you, my love? I've missed hearing your voice."

Something inside her softened. Despite everything—the video, the fights, the distance—she still responded to his tenderness. "I've missed you too," she admitted, curling her feet beneath her. "I'm sorry about our last conversation. I shouldn't have accused you without—"

"It's forgotten," he interrupted. "We both said things we didn't mean."

Devika closed her eyes, relief washing over her. "I've been thinking, Rajeevan... maybe I should come to Dubai. We could be together again, start fresh."

There was a pause on the line.

"That would be wonderful," he said, his tone shifting subtly. "But first, we need to discuss something important."

Devika sat up straighter. "What is it?"

"The hotel project is facing some financial challenges," Rajeevan explained, clearing his throat. "I've had to cover some significant expenses personally. Twenty-five lakhs, to be precise."

"Twenty-five lakhs?" Devika repeated, disbelief creeping into her voice.

"I need you to transfer the money from our joint account," he continued. "It's urgent, Devika. My position here depends on it."

The softness in her heart hardened. "You're calling after all this time to ask for money?"

"This isn't just for me," Rajeevan's voice took on an edge. "This is our future. Don't you want us to succeed?"

Devika stood up, pacing the small room. "What happened to the money you've been earning? What about the savings you claimed to be setting aside?"

"Don't question me like this," he snapped. "I'm your husband. If you won't support me, I'll have no choice but to take legal action to access the funds."

"Legal action? Against your wife?" Devika's voice rose. "Is that what our marriage has become?"

"Be reasonable, Devika. Twenty-five lakhs isn't much considering what's at stake."

Her grip tightened around the phone. "You won't get a single rupee from me, Rajeevan. Not one. Do whatever you want—go to court, hire lawyers. I don't care anymore."

A cold laugh came through the speaker. "You think you're so strong now, teaching in that college, living independently. Let's see how brave you are when everyone knows about your little adventures in Pune."

Devika froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't have friends there? People talk, Devika. They see things."

Before she could respond, the screen changed. Rajeevan had switched to video call. His face appeared, smiling cruelly, and then the camera panned to show a woman sitting beside him—young, beautiful, with a confident smile.

"Meet Priya," Rajeevan said, turning to the woman. "She's been keeping me company while you've been so... busy."

Devika watched in horror as Rajeevan pulled Priya close, kissing her deeply while keeping his eyes fixed on the camera, on Devika. The woman's arms wrapped around his neck, their kiss becoming more passionate as Rajeevan's hand slid down her back.

"Stop it!" Devika shouted, tears blurring her vision. "What kind of monster have you become?"

Rajeevan broke the kiss, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Transfer the money by tomorrow, or the divorce papers will be on their way—along with some interesting stories about Professor Devika's extracurricular activities."

"We're finished," Devika said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Don't call me again. Don't contact me. You're dead to me, Rajeevan."

She ended the call before he could respond, flinging the phone onto the bed as if it had burned her. For several minutes, she stood motionless, the rain outside matching the storm within her. Then slowly, she sank to her knees beside the bed, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Hours passed, the room growing dark as evening settled in. Devika hadn't moved from her position on the floor, her mind replaying Rajeevan's betrayal over and over. The kiss, the threats, the demands—all of it confirmed what she had suspected but refused to accept: her marriage had been a lie.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the mattress roused her. With weary resignation, she reached for it, expecting another message from Rajeevan. Instead, it was Vishnu.

"Madam, my father is asking when you will visit again. He has not taken a drink since you promised."

Devika stared at the message, remembering her agreement with Dattu. In the midst of her own crisis, she had forgotten about their arrangement. She typed a brief reply: "I'll come tomorrow afternoon."

Putting the phone down, Devika moved to the window, watching raindrops trail down the glass. She thought of Rajeevan and Priya, of the masked stranger in the courtyard, of Milind's fingers on her waist, of Dattu's weathered hand touching her cheek, and of the way Vishnu looked at her in class.

All these men, each wanting something from her, each taking pieces of her. But something had changed tonight. As Rajeevan revealed his true self, something inside Devika had broken free. The last chains of loyalty, of obligation, had been severed.

"If he wants war," she whispered to her reflection in the rain-streaked window, "then he'll have it."

No more tears, no more guilt. Tomorrow she would visit Dattu, not as a dutiful teacher concerned for her student, but as a woman stepping boldly into the power she was only beginning to understand.

The next morning, Devika stood before her mirror, deliberately selecting a sleeveless blouse in deep crimson silk that left her arms bare. The cut was lower than she typically wore, the fabric thin enough that each breath made it shift against her skin. She paired it with a forest green saree, dbanging it carefully to accentuate her waist while leaving her midriff exposed.

This wasn't the Devika who had arrived in Pune months ago. That woman would have worried about propriety, about the implications of every inch of skin revealed. Today's Devika thought only of Rajeevan's betrayal and the strange freedom it had granted her.

"Let them look," she whispered to her reflection as she traced kohl around her eyes. "Let them want."

She locked her apartment and headed toward the stairwell. The building was quiet on Sunday morning, most residents still in bed or at temple. Devika moved quickly, eager to reach Dattu's home before her resolve wavered.

"Devika-ji!"

She froze at the familiar voice. Seenu stood at the foot of the stairs, his eyes widening as they traveled over her bare arms and the hint of her waist visible beneath the saree's loose dbang.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, suddenly conscious of how different she looked from her usual professional attire.

Seenu's gaze lingered on her shoulders. "You look... different today. Very beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, attempting to move past him.

"Where are you headed so early?" His hand brushed her arm, stopping her.

Devika hesitated. She couldn't reveal she was visiting Vishnu's father—Seenu would ask too many questions, might even disapprove of a teacher making home visits to students.

"Just some shopping," she improvised. "I need a new saree."

Seenu's face brightened. "Shopping? On your own? I know all the best shops in Pune."

"That's kind, but I can manage."

"I insist." His hand moved from her arm to the small of her back, the touch proprietary. "It's my duty to show our Kerala jewel the finest Pune has to offer."

Devika's thoughts raced. Dattu would be waiting for her, expecting their arrangement to begin today. But refusing Seenu now would raise suspicions.

"I really shouldn't take up your Sunday," she tried again.

"Nonsense," Seenu said, already steering her toward the parking lot. "I know a shop owned by an old friend of mine. Quality fabrics, best prices in the city."

Twenty minutes later, Seenu parked his car in front of a narrow storefront wedged between newer buildings. Faded gold letters spelling "Desai Silks" hung above the entrance. Inside, bolts of fabric lined the walls from floor to ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of colors and textures.

Behind a worn wooden counter stood an older man, tall and lean with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw. His hands moved precisely over a length of silk, measuring and noting dimensions in a tattered ledger.

"Laxman!" Seenu called out. "Look who I've brought to lighten your pockets!"

The man looked up, his deep-set eyes narrowing briefly before recognition dawned. "Seenuvasan! It's been too long."

The two men embraced, slipping into rapid Marathi that Devika couldn't follow. She checked her phone discreetly—three missed calls from Vishnu. Guilt gnawed at her as she imagined Dattu waiting, perhaps thinking she'd broken her promise.

"And who is this vision?" Laxman's gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts.

Seenu placed his hand on Devika's shoulder, presenting her like a prized acquisition. "This is Devika-ji, our new biology professor from Kerala. I'm showing her Pune's finest establishments."

Laxman's gaze was different from Seenu's—not merely appreciative but assessing, as if cataloging every detail of her appearance. His eyes lingered on the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then traveled to her waist.

"Kerala," he repeated softly, moving from behind the counter. "Not like our Pune women at all." He circled her slowly, his scarred face unreadable. "They don't make them like this here."

"I told you," Seenu said proudly, as if he'd personally imported her. "Different altogether, isn't she?"

"Kerala women have a certain..." Laxman paused, searching for the right word, "...texture. Like the silk of Kanchipuram but softer, more yielding to the touch." He reached out but stopped just short of touching her arm.

"Perhaps you could show Devika-ji some of your special collection," Seenu suggested, his tone implying something beyond simple fabric.

"For a Kerala beauty?" Laxman's thin lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I have materials she won't find anywhere else in Pune."

As Laxman disappeared into the back of the shop, Devika felt a chill despite the morning heat. Her phone vibrated again in her hand—another call from Vishnu.

She was trapped between Seenu's expectations and Dattu's waiting, between the life she'd planned and the one taking shape around her with each decision, each compromise.

Devika shifted uncomfortably on the small wooden stool, trying to focus on the sarees Laxman had spread before her rather than the urgent vibration of her phone. Four missed calls from Vishnu now. The silk merchant had laid out a dazzling array of fabrics—emerald greens with gold borders, crimson with intricate silver work, midnight blues embellished with delicate beadwork.

"This one would complement your complexion beautifully," Laxman said, unfolding a deep purple saree with copper thread woven through it.

Devika nodded politely, leaning forward to examine the craftsmanship. As she bent, she felt Seenu's gaze on her back, lingering where her blouse met her saree, where her waist curved into her hips. The weight of his attention made her skin prickle.

"I really shouldn't take too much time," she said, straightening. "Perhaps I could come back another day."

"Nonsense," Seenu replied, settling more comfortably into the cushioned chair behind her. "Sunday is for leisure, Devika-ji. What's your hurry?"

Laxman moved closer, holding a peacock-blue fabric against her arm. "See how it catches the light? Like water on your skin."

His fingers brushed against her forearm as he dbangd the fabric, his touch lingering a moment too long. The scar on his face twisted slightly as he smiled.

"Beautiful," he murmured, though his eyes had left the saree to travel the length of her neck.

Devika reached for a rose-gold saree from the pile, holding it up to distract from the tension building in the small shop. She stood and moved toward a tarnished mirror in the corner, holding the fabric across her shoulders.

Laxman was beside her instantly, adjusting the dbang with practiced hands. "Allow me."

He positioned himself behind her, close enough that she could smell the faint aroma of clove cigarettes on his breath. His fingers skimmed her shoulder as he arranged the fabric, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection.

"I have more exclusive pieces," he said, voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "Sarees you won't find displayed. Special collections."

"Perhaps another day," Devika replied, stepping away from his proximity. "I should really—"

"At least try this one properly," Laxman insisted, taking the rose-gold saree from her hands. "See how it falls, how it moves with you."

Seenu leaned forward in his chair. "Yes, Devika-ji. What's the harm in trying one?"

Caught between them, Devika felt her options narrowing. Her phone vibrated again in her purse—Vishnu's fifth call.

"It would be better if you wore it," Laxman continued, "to appreciate the full effect."

"I couldn't possibly change here," Devika protested.

"Why not?" Laxman gestured toward a faded curtain at the back of the shop. "I have a fitting room. Not fancy, but private."

Before she could object further, he was guiding her toward the small cubicle, saree in hand. Devika hesitated at the entrance—the space was barely large enough to turn around in, with peeling paint on the walls and a single bare bulb overhead.

"This won't take long," Laxman assured her, pushing the fabric into her hands. "Then you'll see why my customers come from as far as Mumbai."

Finding herself suddenly alone in the cramped changing space, Devika took a deep breath. She just needed to get through this quickly, then make her excuses and leave. She began unwrapping her current saree, the green silk pooling around her feet.

Outside, Laxman returned to where Seenu sat watching the curtained doorway.

"What's her story?" Laxman asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the changing room.

"New professor at my college," Seenu replied with a smug smile. "From Kerala. Husband in Dubai."

"Married woman alone in Pune?" Laxman raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Seenu leaned closer. "Her husband's cheating on her. Found out recently. She's... vulnerable."

"And you've been comforting her?" Laxman's scarred face twisted into a knowing grin.

Seenu laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet shop. "You could say that."

"How far?" Laxman asked, voice dropping lower.

"What do you think?" Seenu's expression was triumphant. "Not only have I touched her, I've kissed those full lips, shared sweet payasam mouth to mouth."

Laxman's eyes widened. "You're making this up."

"I've fed her payasam and licked it from her navel," Seenu boasted, voice thick with remembered pleasure. "Her skin tastes like honey and cardamom."

"You lucky bastard," Laxman breathed, glancing toward the changing room. "I can barely resist the sight of her on that stool. The way her curves filled it..."

"The things I want to do to her," Seenu muttered, shifting in his seat.

"I'd take her right against the wall," Laxman agreed, his voice hardening with desire. "Hard enough to make her forget her husband's name."

Inside the changing room, Devika struggled with the limited space. There was nowhere to lay her carefully folded saree without it touching the dusty floor. She looked around desperately, holding the bundled green silk against her chest, clad only in her blouse and petticoat.

With no alternative, she cracked open the door slightly, keeping her body hidden behind it.

"Excuse me," she called softly. "There's no place to put my saree. It's too dirty in here."

Laxman appeared almost instantly. "Yes, I apologize for the condition. The room is rarely used. Would you like me to hold it for you?"

Devika hesitated, weighing her limited options. "Is there no other solution?"

"I'm afraid not," Laxman replied, his expression carefully neutral despite the racing of his pulse. "Unless you prefer not to try the new one."

Devika sighed. "Very well."

She carefully passed her folded saree through the narrow opening in the door, then quickly secured the lock. The small click seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet shop.

Laxman returned to Seenu, triumphantly holding Devika's saree. Without hesitation, he brought the silk to his face, inhaling deeply.

"Gods," he groaned, eyes closing in appreciation. "Her scent."

He passed the fabric to Seenu, who buried his nose in the folds, drawing in the perfume of jasmine and the subtle musk of Devika's skin.

"Divine," Seenu murmured, reluctantly returning the saree.

Laxman clutched the fabric against his chest, then ran it slowly across his face. "I can't wait to smell this directly from her skin," he whispered, voice rough with desire.

Minutes later, the curtain rustled as Devika emerged, dbangd in the rose-gold saree. The fabric clung to her curves, the golden thread catching the light with each movement. Despite the shabby surroundings, she looked regal, uncomfortable but undeniably beautiful.

Both men stared, momentarily speechless.

"Exquisite," Laxman finally managed, circling her with professional scrutiny layered over hungry appreciation. "Though the blouse doesn't quite match the tone."

Devika nodded, eager to end this uncomfortable scenario. "Yes, I'd need to stitch a matching one. Perhaps I should change back now."

"Actually," Laxman said, moving toward a drawer behind the counter, "I have several readymade blouses. One might complement this perfectly."

Devika glanced at her watch, tension visible in the set of her shoulders. "That's very kind, but I really should be going."

"Just one more moment," Laxman insisted, already pulling out a selection of blouses in varying shades of gold and copper. "After coming all this way, you deserve to see the complete effect."

Trapped between Laxman's insistence and Seenu's expectant gaze, Devika felt the walls of the small shop closing in around her. Somewhere across the city, Dattu and Vishnu were waiting, their patience surely wearing thin.

Her phone vibrated again in her purse—a sixth call from Vishnu, a summons she could not answer, a promise she could not keep.

Devika glanced at her phone again, anxiety gnawing at her. Four missed calls from Vishnu now. She needed to leave, to explain why she'd broken her promise to visit Dattu. But with Seenu hovering nearby, watching her every move like a hawk tracking prey, escape seemed impossible.

The rose-gold saree dbangd elegantly over Devika's frame, but Laxman shook his head, his critical eye finding fault where there was none.

"The color complements your skin beautifully, but your current blouse—it disrupts the harmony." He turned to a drawer behind the counter, pulling it open with practiced efficiency. "I have the perfect match."

Laxman extracted a blouse in burnished copper with delicate gold thread work along its edges. The material caught the light, shimmer dancing across its surface.

"This will complete the look," he declared, holding it out to her. "You must try it."

Devika's eyes darted to her phone. Six missed calls from Vishnu. Her stomach tightened with frustration.

"I really shouldn't take more of your time," she protested weakly.

Seenu leaned forward in his chair. "Nonsense! We're in no hurry. The full effect is important, isn't it, Laxman?"

The silk merchant nodded, pressing the blouse into her reluctant hands. "The trail room is ready for you."

Devika accepted the garment with a tight smile and retreated behind the faded curtain. The cramped space felt even smaller now, the walls closing in as she carefully removed her crimson blouse. The copper replacement slipped cool against her skin as she eased her arms through its sleeves.

The fabric clung to her curves—too tightly. She twisted, reaching for the hooks at the back, but her fingers fumbled uselessly. The blouse was at least one size too small, pressing against her ribcage, refusing to close.

"Damn it," she muttered, contorting her body in the narrow space. Her arms ached from the awkward angle. What had possessed her to agree to this charade? She should be at Dattu's home by now, not trapped in this dusty cubicle struggling with an ill-fitting blouse.

Frustration welled up inside her—at Seenu for bringing her here, at Rajeevan for his betrayal, at herself for the web of complications she'd spun around her life. She gave the hooks one last futile attempt before surrendering. With careful movements, she removed the copper blouse and slipped back into her original crimson one.

When she emerged, both men's expectant expressions fell.

"It doesn't fit," she explained, holding out the copper blouse. "The hooks are too tight. I couldn't fasten them."

Laxman took the garment, frowning. "Impossible. This should fit perfectly." He examined the blouse, turning it in his hands. "Perhaps you weren't hooking it correctly."

"I know how to hook a blouse," Devika replied, an edge creeping into her voice.

"Do you have another size?" Seenu asked, disappointment evident in his tone.

Laxman shook his head. "This is custom work. I don't keep multiple sizes." He looked at Devika appraisingly. "I should check the fit myself."

Devika stiffened. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I could come into the trail room with you," Laxman replied smoothly. "See where the problem lies."

"Absolutely not!" Devika's cheeks flushed with indignation.

Laxman raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No offense intended. Then perhaps you could show me how tight it is?"

"Show you?" Devika echoed, disbelief coloring her words.

"Yes," Seenu chimed in, eyes bright with anticipation. "Just so we can see the issue."

Devika looked between the two men, their eager expressions barely masking their intentions. She'd encountered similar looks from Vishnu, from Pathan, from Seenu himself in his office. Men who wanted to see, to possess with their eyes what they couldn't touch.

"Fine," she said abruptly, snatching the blouse back. "I'll show you the problem."

She disappeared behind the curtain again, heart pounding. What was she doing? This wasn't like her—and yet, lately, so little of her behavior felt familiar. She removed her crimson blouse once more and slipped on the copper one, her movements quick and agitated.

As expected, the hooks refused to meet. She struggled for several minutes, twisting her arms backward until they ached, but the gap remained unbridgeable. The blouse hugged her front tightly, the neckline dipping lower than she preferred, while the back remained obstinately open.

Devika stood motionless, weighing her options. She couldn't hook it herself. She couldn't walk out with an open blouse. And she couldn't waste any more time—Dattu would be waiting, perhaps growing angry, perhaps reaching for the bottle she'd asked him to abandon.

With a deep breath, she cracked open the curtain just enough to peek through.

"Mr. Laxman," she called, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need... assistance."

Laxman moved quickly across the shop, his heart hammering against his ribs. He parted the curtain just enough to slip through, then closed it behind him. The small space became impossibly smaller with his presence.

Devika stood with her back to him, one arm holding the front of her blouse closed. "The hooks," she said simply, her voice tight. "I can't manage them."

Laxman stared, momentarily frozen by the sight before him. The saree's pallu had fallen away, leaving her shoulders bare except for thin bra straps. Her back, exposed by the open blouse, gleamed copper-gold in the dim light.

"Sometimes these hooks need support," he managed, his voice rougher than before. His gaze traveled over her exposed skin, from the nape of her neck down to where the saree hugged her waist. "You have such clean, beautiful skin."

Devika tensed. "What did you say?"

"You look good," he amended, moving closer. "Very good."

His fingers reached for the edges of the blouse, tugging them toward each other. Devika felt his breath hot against her neck as he worked, each exhalation sending shivers down her spine. The hooks slowly fastened under his experienced hands, one by one from bottom to top.

"There," he murmured, but didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the small, tarnished mirror. His eyes lingered on the shadow between her breasts visible in the blouse's low neckline.

Devika felt him shift behind her, his body moving closer until the front of his trousers pressed against her. The contact made her breath catch. She stood frozen, hyperaware of his proximity, of the heat radiating from him, of the hard pressure against the curve of her buttocks.

"Perfect fit after all," Laxman whispered, his mouth inches from her ear. "Worth the effort, don't you think?"

Outside the curtain, Seenu waited, straining to hear the muffled conversation within the trail room. His imagination supplied vivid images of what might be happening behind that thin fabric barrier, fueling a jealousy that surprised him with its intensity.

Inside, Devika remained motionless, caught between disgust and a strange, detached curiosity. How had she arrived at this moment? Standing in a dusty changing room with a stranger pressed against her, while across town, another man waited for her promised visit, while somewhere in Dubai, her husband celebrated his betrayal with another woman.

Time seemed suspended, stretched taut like a thread about to snap. Then Devika's phone vibrated again in her purse hanging from the hook on the wall—Vishnu's seventh call, a reality check piercing the strange bubble of the moment.

"Thank you," she said firmly, stepping forward and away from Laxman's unwelcome pressure. "That will be all."