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

[prady12191]

Dattu paced the small apartment, pausing occasionally to glance at the faded clock on the wall. Three days had passed since Devika's unexpected visit—three days since her lips had pressed against his, igniting desires he'd thought long dormant. The memory of her taste lingered, sweeter than the finest whiskey, more intoxicating than any bottle he'd emptied over lonely nights.

"She'll come tomorrow," he muttered, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "She promised."

The apartment felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in with each passing hour. He'd cleaned meticulously that morning—swept the floors, washed the dishes, even changed the threadbare sheets on his bed. Preparations for a visitor he couldn't be certain would return.

The door opened, and Vishnu entered, dropping his backpack on the floor with a heavy thud.

"Any word from your teacher?" Dattu asked, trying to sound casual.

Vishnu slumped onto the sofa, exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Nothing today. She avoided eye contact in class."

Dattu's face darkened. "She's still coming Saturday?"

"I think so." Vishnu stretched his legs out, studying his father's anxious movements. "Why are you so worked up about her? You've never cared about my teachers before."

Dattu's weathered hands gripped the back of a chair, knuckles whitening. "This one's different."

"Because she reminds you of mother?" Vishnu's tone was skeptical.

A low chuckle escaped Dattu's lips. "Not just that." He moved to the kitchen, extracting a half-empty bottle from a cabinet. Though he'd promised Devika to limit his drinking, tonight's restlessness demanded relief. "She drank with me, you know."

Vishnu sat up straighter. "Devika Madam? Drinking?" Disbelief colored his words. "You're making it up."

"Three glasses," Dattu confirmed, pouring himself a measure. "Right here on this sofa." He gestured with the glass before taking a long swallow. "Kerala women aren't supposed to drink, she told me. But she did."

Vishnu shook his head, unable to reconcile this information with the composed professor who taught his biology class. "She wouldn't."

"Oh, but she did." Dattu's eyes gleamed with remembered triumph. "And that's not all she did."

The apartment fell silent as father and son regarded each other—Dattu smug with his secret knowledge, Vishnu torn between curiosity and jealousy.

"What else happened?" Vishnu finally asked, his voice tight.

Dattu savored the moment, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before answering. "She told me everything, boy. Everything about you two."

Blood drained from Vishnu's face. "What are you talking about?"

"The college toilet. Her saree coming off." Dattu's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Her mouth on your parts."

"She told you that?" Vishnu's shock was genuine, his body rigid with embarrassment and rage.

"Every detail." Dattu nodded, enjoying his son's discomfort. "The alcohol loosened her tongue. She talked about her husband too—how he betrays her in Dubai, shows off his mistress on video calls."

Vishnu stared at his father, processing this unexpected revelation. "She wouldn't have told you that. She's too proper."

"Proper?" Dattu snorted. "A proper woman doesn't suck her student in a toilet."

The crude words hung between them, charged with unspoken competition. Father and son, suddenly rivals for the same woman's attention.

"And before she left," Dattu continued, draining his glass, "she kissed me. Not a little peck—a real kiss, with her tongue in my mouth and her body pressed against mine."

Vishnu stood abruptly. "You're lying!"

"Jealous, boy?" Dattu's smile didn't reach his eyes. "She moaned when I squeezed her. The same sounds she probably made for you."

Vishnu paced the small room, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "If what you're saying is true—"

"It is." Dattu poured himself another drink.

"Then she's more... available than I thought." Vishnu's expression shifted, calculation replacing anger. "This could work in our favor."

Dattu raised an eyebrow. "Our favor?"

"You want her. I want her." Vishnu spoke slowly, as if working through a complex equation. "Her husband's betraying her. She's vulnerable, confused."

"What are you suggesting?" Dattu leaned forward, interest piqued.

Vishnu sat back down, closer to his father this time. "Next weekend is your birthday."

"My birthday was three months ago," Dattu objected.

"She doesn't know that." Vishnu waved dismissively. "I'll tell her we're celebrating late because of financial issues. I'll say you've been asking for her, that seeing her was the best gift you could receive."

Understanding dawned on Dattu's face. "You think she'll come?"

"After what you told me? I know she will." Vishnu's voice hardened. "She feels guilty about her behavior with me. She'll want to make amends, prove she's still a good person."

Dattu nodded slowly, seeing the logic. "And when she's here?"

"You play the lonely widower—how seeing her brings you comfort, reminds you of happier times." Vishnu's eyes gleamed with calculated intensity. "Make her feel needed. Special."

"And you?"

"I'll create the right... situation." Vishnu's smile was cold. "Once she's emotional and vulnerable with you, I'll join. Between us, she won't have anywhere to turn."

Dattu considered this plan, rolling his empty glass between his palms. "No alcohol this time," he decided. "I want her fully aware when it happens."

"Why?" Vishnu asked.

"Because I want her to remember every moment." Dattu's voice dropped to a growl. "I want her to choose it, not blame it on the drink afterward."

Vishnu nodded slowly. "She's already falling. The husband's betrayal, the lonely nights, the excitement of forbidden pleasures—it's breaking down her resistance."

"And once we have her?" Dattu's question hung in the air.

"Then we both get what we want." Vishnu's expression grew distant, contemplative. "Though I'm still not sure I like the idea of sharing."

Dattu laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet apartment. "Get used to it, boy. Some women are too fine to keep to yourself."

The two men fell silent, each lost in private fantasies of the Kerala beauty who'd upended their lives. Outside, night fell over Pune, shadows deepening as street lamps flickered to life. In her apartment across town, Devika prepared for bed, unaware of the trap being laid—a trap baited with her own loneliness and need for connection.

Dattu finished his drink and set the glass down with a decisive thump. "It'll work," he declared, newfound energy in his movements. "Next Saturday, we'll have her right where we want her."

Vishnu nodded, excitement building despite his lingering reservations. "I'll make the arrangements. You just be ready to play your part."

Father and son regarded each other with newfound respect—conspirators now, united in their pursuit of the one woman who'd awakened something primal in both of them.

"To Saturday, then," Dattu said, raising an imaginary toast.

"To Saturday," Vishnu echoed, his voice tinged with anticipation. "And to Devika."