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

[prady12191]

Evening shadows stretched across the small apartment complex as Devika finally reached Dattu's door. The journey had taken longer than expected, the auto-rickshaw crawling through Pune's congested Sunday traffic. She smoothed her saree, adjusted her blouse, and knocked softly.

The door swung open almost immediately. Dattu stood there, his weathered face lighting up at the sight of her. His eyes, dark and intent, traveled the length of her body before settling on her face.

"You came," he said, surprise evident in his gravelly voice. "I thought you'd forgotten."

"I'm so sorry for being late," Devika replied, stepping inside as he moved back. "There was an emergency at college that I couldn't avoid."

The apartment was small but surprisingly clean. A single bulb cast yellow light over sparse furniture—a threadbare sofa, a wooden table with mismatched chairs, and a small television perched on a rickety stand. Photos of Vishnu at various ages lined one wall, alongside a faded wedding portrait.

Dattu waved away her apology. "No need for sorry, madam. You are an angel to give company to a low-class old man like me." His voice softened. "Most people in your position wouldn't bother."

Devika smiled, touched by his gratitude despite knowing she had lied about her delay. "Shall we start our evening? I promised to visit if you stayed away from alcohol during the week."

Dattu gestured toward the kitchen. "I kept my promise. Not a drop since you left."

Devika moved toward the small kitchen area where she spotted a familiar bottle on the counter. She reached for it, aware of Dattu's gaze following her movements. With practiced motions, she unscrewed the cap and poured a generous measure into a glass.

"Here," she said, offering it to him. "You've earned this."

Dattu accepted the glass, his rough fingers brushing against hers. "Won't you join me?" he asked, raising the glass to his lips. "Drinking alone is no fun."

"I've never had alcohol before," Devika admitted, setting the bottle down. "It's not something women from my background typically do."

Dattu took a long sip, eyes never leaving hers over the rim of his glass. "You're in Pune now, not Kerala. Different rules here."

Devika shook her head. "I don't think I'd like the taste anyway."

Settling onto the sofa, Dattu patted the spot beside him. "Come, sit. Let me tell you about my wife—Vishnu's mother."

Devika sat carefully at the opposite end, maintaining a respectful distance. For nearly an hour, Dattu spoke of his late wife—her kindness, her beauty, her struggles with his drinking and temper. He shared stories of Vishnu's childhood, of financial hardships, of dreams deferred.

As he talked, Devika listened, nodding at appropriate moments. She thought of sharing her own marital troubles—the fresh wound of Rajeevan's betrayal still stinging—but hesitated. This arrangement was about helping Vishnu, not burdening his father with her problems.

Yet as Dattu's stories grew more personal, something inside Devika loosened. Perhaps it was his vulnerability, or perhaps the emotional toll of the day, but suddenly she couldn't hold back.

"My husband asked me for twenty-five lakhs today," she blurted out, interrupting Dattu's reminiscence about Vishnu's first day of college. "Then he showed me the woman he's sleeping with in Dubai. Made me watch as he kissed her."

Dattu's expression darkened. "What kind of man does that to his wife?"

"A man who never truly loved me," Devika replied, her voice cracking. "I've been fooling myself for years."

Dattu slammed his empty glass down on the table. "Bastard!" he spat. "No man with eyes in his head would betray a woman like you."

He reached for the bottle, refilling his glass before pouring a second. "You need this," he said firmly, offering it to her. "It helps. Believe me."

Devika stared at the amber liquid. "Does it really take away the pain?"

"It doesn't take it away," Dattu admitted. "But it makes it... different. Softer around the edges."

Hesitantly, Devika accepted the glass. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"First sip is the hardest," Dattu encouraged. "After that, it gets easier."

Devika brought the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip. The liquid burned down her throat, making her cough and grimace.

"Terrible, isn't it?" Dattu chuckled. "But give it time. First it tastes bad, then you start to need it."

Devika stared at the glass, then closed her eyes and tipped her head back, swallowing the entire contents in one desperate gulp. The alcohol blazed a fiery trail to her stomach.

Dattu watched her with widening eyes, his heart racing at the sight of this elegant Kerala beauty drinking so boldly in his humble home. Her lips, wet from the liquor, parted as she gasped for breath.

"Another?" he asked, already reaching for the bottle.

"No," Devika protested weakly. "That's enough."

"To forget a man like your husband," Dattu insisted, refilling her glass, "you need more than one drink."

The second glass appeared in her hand, and despite her better judgment, Devika drank it, this time more slowly. The burning sensation had already begun to transform into a pleasant warmth spreading through her limbs.

"He never appreciated me," she said, her tongue loosening as the alcohol took effect. "Ten years I gave him, and he treats me like I'm nothing."

"Tell me," Dattu encouraged, moving closer on the sofa.

Words poured from Devika now, unfiltered and raw. Her husband's neglect, his emotional distance, his incompetence in the bedroom—intimate details she would never normally share spilled freely from her lips. She used words she'd never spoken aloud, cursing Rajeevan with a vehemence that surprised even herself.

"He couldn't satisfy a woman if his life depended on it," she declared, her head spinning slightly. "Always too quick, never caring if I enjoyed it."

Dattu slid closer, his thigh now pressed against hers. "A crime," he murmured, his voice husky. "To have such a beautiful wife and not worship her properly."

His work-roughened hand came to rest on the sofa beside her, not quite touching her but close enough that she could feel its heat through her saree.

Dattu refilled his glass and took another long swallow, his weathered face relaxing as the alcohol coursed through him. The evening shadows stretched across the small apartment, casting the photos of Vishnu and his late wife in a golden glow. Dattu's eyes settled on Devika, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her arms, the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder.

"Tell me about my son," he said suddenly. "How is Vishnu doing in college? Is he studying well?"

Devika nodded, relieved by the shift to safer conversation. "He's doing much better recently. His grades have improved significantly."

"Good, good." Dattu poured another measure of amber liquid into her empty glass. "Here, have one more. You've had a difficult day."

Devika hesitated, then accepted the glass. The first two drinks had already loosened something inside her—walls she'd carefully constructed were developing cracks. The alcohol burned less this time as it slid down her throat, warming her from within.

"I'm glad to hear my boy is studying," Dattu continued, his voice roughening. "He's always been smart, just needed the right... motivation."

Something in his tone made Devika look up sharply. The word 'motivation' hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning. The third drink was already working its magic, dissolving her inhibitions and loosening her tongue.

"Your son..." she began, then stopped herself.

"What about him?" Dattu leaned forward, suddenly alert.

Devika took another sip, larger this time. "Your son watches me in class. The way he looks at me is... inappropriate."

Dattu's expression remained neutral, but his eyes darkened with interest. "What do you mean, inappropriate?"

"The way he stares at my body. He and his friend Pathan..." The words tumbled out now, unstoppable. "They arranged a special practical class with just the three of us. They trapped me there."

"Trapped you?" Dattu's voice dropped lower, his body tensing. "What did they do?"

Devika shook her head, pressing her palm against her forehead. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I don't know why I'm saying these things."

Dattu moved closer on the sofa, his arm sliding around her shoulders. "It's alright. You can tell me. I should know what my son is doing."

The unexpected contact made Devika stiffen, but she didn't pull away. There was something comforting about his presence, something solid and reassuring despite the inappropriate nature of his touch.

"They touch me," she whispered, the alcohol demolishing her final defenses. "During the practical class. Their hands, always finding reasons to brush against me."

Dattu's arm tightened around her, drawing her slightly closer. "That's terrible," he said, though his tone suggested something different entirely. "Men can be such animals."

"All men are the same," Devika said bitterly, thinking of Rajeevan's betrayal, of Seenu's wandering hands, of Laxman's hungry eyes. "Your son is no different."

She looked up, meeting Dattu's gaze. The intensity there should have frightened her, but in her alcohol-induced haze, it only made her want to provoke him further, to test the boundaries of his reaction.

"Vishnu asked me for a favor," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He said he would study harder if I did something for him."

Dattu's breathing had grown heavier, his hand now resting on her upper arm, fingers pressing into her flesh. "What kind of favor?"

"He took me to the boys' toilet at college," Devika said, the words spilling out before she could censor them. "He made me show him my figure. Without my pallu."

"What?" Dattu's exclamation was part shock, part something darker. His eyes widened as he stared at her. "My son took you to the boys' toilet? And you went?"

Devika nodded, suddenly realizing what she had revealed. "I... I don't know why I'm telling you this. The alcohol—"

"No, no," Dattu interrupted, shifting closer until his thigh pressed firmly against hers. "You started now. Tell me everything. What happened in that toilet with my son?"

Devika tried to pull away, but his arm held her firmly. "Nothing. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"You showed him your body?" Dattu pressed, his voice rough with excitement. "In the toilet? My son saw you without your saree pallu?"

"Yes," Devika admitted, closing her eyes as shame and a strange excitement warred within her. "But it wasn't just that. He... he didn't just look."

Dattu's grip tightened. "What else happened? Did he touch you?"

The directness of his question made Devika's eyes snap open. She found herself nodding before she could stop herself. "Yes. He touched me. He felt my waist, my hips."

"My son touched your waist?" Dattu confirmed, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Where else?"

Devika's face burned with embarrassment, but something compelled her to continue. "He kissed my navel. And... sucked it."

"Sucked your navel?" Dattu repeated, his breath catching. "In the college toilet?"

Devika nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "Yes."

Dattu released his grip on her arm, leaning back slightly. His expression was a mixture of shock and arousal that made Devika deeply uncomfortable. "I can't believe what my son did with you in that toilet," he said finally. "That lucky bastard got to taste his Kerala teacher's navel."

His crude assessment shook Devika from her confession. She straightened, trying to create distance between them. "I shouldn't have told you this. It was inappropriate of me."

"What else happened?" Dattu asked, ignoring her attempt at retreat. "There's more, isn't there?"

"No, nothing else," Devika lied, suddenly aware of how much she had already revealed.

Dattu studied her face, clearly not believing her. "You said he studied well afterward, yes? Did he call you to the toilet again?"

Devika bit her lip, wishing desperately that she could take back everything she'd said. But the alcohol had lowered her defenses too far, and the truth spilled out. "Yes. After he improved his grades, he called me back."

Dattu leaned forward, excitement evident in every line of his body. "And what happened the second time?"

Devika took a deep breath. "I promised him... if he scored well on his exam, I would remove my saree completely. And I did. I let him hug me without my saree."

"Just a hug?" Dattu's voice was skeptical, tinged with disappointment.

Devika's mind raced, trying to find a way to end this conversation, to escape the trap she'd laid for herself. But the alcohol had removed her filter, and the words continued to flow. "No, not just a hug. I couldn't control myself. I took his... his..."

She faltered, unable to say the word.

"His what?" Dattu pressed, leaning so close now that she could smell the paan and alcohol on his breath.

"I took his... penis," Devika whispered, the clinical term sounding absurd in this context. "I jerked it, and then I... I put it in my mouth." She closed her eyes, unable to bear witnessing Dattu's reaction to this final confession. "It was my first time doing that."

The silence that followed was deafening. When Devika finally opened her eyes, she found Dattu staring at her, his breathing shallow, a visible dampness forming at the front of his lungi. The realization that he was aroused by her confession made her stomach twist with shame and something else—a dark, forbidden thrill.

"You sucked my son's dick?" Dattu's blunt question hung in the air between them. "With these lips?" He reached out, his weathered finger tracing the outline of her mouth.

The touch snapped Devika back to reality. The alcohol's haze began to clear, leaving horror in its wake. "I shouldn't have told you any of this. I got carried away and said too much."

Dattu didn't remove his finger, instead pressing it more firmly against her lower lip. "My son kissed these sexy lips?"

"Yes," Devika admitted, trying to pull away.

"Will you allow this old man to kiss those same lips?" Dattu asked, his voice thick with desire. "The lips that pleasured my son?"

Shock coursed through Devika's body. She stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her empty glass. "I need to leave," she said, her voice shaking. "This has gone too far."

She moved quickly to the small bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. What had she done? How could she have revealed such intimate details to Vishnu's father? The water dripped down her cheeks as she stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman who looked back.

When she emerged, Dattu was waiting by the door, watching her with undisguised hunger.

"I'm sorry," she said, adjusting her saree and smoothing her hair. "That was incredibly inappropriate of me. Please forget everything I said."

"How can I forget?" Dattu asked, moving slightly to block her path. "You told me my son had his teacher's mouth on his manhood. Those are not words a father forgets."

Devika tried to step around him. "I need to go. It's late, and I've said far too much."

"You never answered my question," Dattu persisted. "Will you allow me what you gave my son?"

"No," Devika said firmly, finding her resolve. "I'm sorry, but no. That was a mistake, all of it. I should never have allowed any of it to happen."

Dattu's face fell, disappointment evident in the slump of his shoulders. He stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

Devika quickly gathered her belongings, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the apartment. It was only when she reached the street that she realized she'd left her purse inside. She stood frozen on the sidewalk, weighing whether she could simply leave it behind.

No, her keys and college ID were inside. She had to go back.

With leaden steps, Devika returned to Dattu's door and knocked softly. The door swung open immediately, as if he'd been waiting for her.

"I forgot my purse," she explained, avoiding his gaze.

"Of course," Dattu said, stepping back to let her in. "It's on the side table."

Devika spotted her purse and moved quickly to retrieve it. As she turned to leave, passing Dattu, something inexplicable stirred within her—a reckless, self-destructive impulse born of alcohol, confusion, and the day's accumulated stress.

Without thinking, she stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Before he could react, she pressed her lips against his, locking them in a fierce, desperate kiss. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting the bitter tang of paan and liquor. Dattu stood frozen in shock for a moment before responding, his arms encircling her waist, his hands sliding down to grasp her buttocks through the silk of her saree.

The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling as Devika pressed her body against his. She could feel his hardness through the thin fabric of his lungi, insistent against her stomach. His rough hands squeezed her soft flesh, drawing a moan from her that vibrated between their joined lips.

"Thank you," Dattu gasped against her mouth, his voice thick with desire. "Thank you."

The words broke the spell. Devika pulled away abruptly, horror dawning on her face. "I kissed you," she whispered, raising trembling fingers to her swollen lips. "I kissed the father with the same lips I kissed the son."

Without another word, she turned and fled, clutching her purse to her chest as she raced down the stairs. The cool evening air hit her face, but it did nothing to clear the confusion swirling in her mind or ease the burning shame that followed her all the way home.