30-11-2025, 07:03 AM
Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting golden patterns across the rumpled bedsheets. Devika awoke slowly, her consciousness returning in gentle waves. The first sensation she registered was warmth—the solid heat of bodies pressed against hers from both sides. The second was pressure against her lips.
Her eyes fluttered open to find her mouth still connected to Dattu's, their lips sealed together in sleep just as they had been when consciousness had left her. His weathered face was relaxed in slumber, deep lines softened by the morning light, his breath emerging in steady rumbles through his nose. They had remained this way through the entire night—locked in an unconscious kiss, as if their bodies refused to break the connection even as their minds surrendered to exhaustion.
Carefully, Devika extricated herself from his embrace, gently pulling her lips from his without disturbing his sleep. He stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping his throat before he settled back into steady breathing. Behind her, Vishnu remained deeply asleep, one arm still dbangd possessively across her waist.
With practiced movements born from years of rising without waking Rajeevan, Devika slipped from between them. Her bare feet touched the cool floor, sending a small shiver through her naked body. The air felt cool against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs as she padded silently toward the bathroom.
Closing the door with a quiet click, she finally allowed herself to examine her reflection in the small mirror above the sink. The woman who stared back barely resembled the composed professor who had arrived at this apartment yesterday evening.
Her hair, normally neat and controlled, cascaded in wild tangles around her shoulders. Her lips appeared slightly swollen from hours of kissing, the corners reddened from the scratch of Dattu's beard. Small marks dotted her neck and shoulders—evidence of passionate attention that would require careful concealment beneath her high-necked blouses.
With clinical detachment, Devika cataloged the changes in her body. Slight bruises had formed on her hips where fingers had gripped too tightly in moments of abandon. The skin between her thighs felt tender, sensitive from extended use. A particular soreness radiated from behind, reminder of territories explored for the first time.
She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping beneath the spray. The warm water sluiced over her body, washing away physical evidence of the night's activities while leaving the memories untouched. She closed her eyes, allowing the water to stream over her face as images flashed behind her eyelids—Dattu's weathered hands exploring her curves, Vishnu's eager mouth claiming hers, father and son united in their worship of her body.
As she lathered soap across her skin, Devika found herself touching the marks they'd left with strange tenderness rather than regret. Each bruise, each tender spot represented a moment of connection, of being truly desired after months of Rajeevan's indifference.
She completed her ablutions with methodical efficiency, washing her hair with the unfamiliar soap provided, rinsing thoroughly before shutting off the water. The small towel barely covered her as she dried herself, dabbing carefully at sensitive areas.
When she emerged from the bathroom, both men remained asleep, their naked forms sprawled across the rumpled sheets. For a moment, Devika stood watching them—Dattu's weathered body bearing the marks of decades of manual labor, Vishnu's smoother form still holding the firmness of youth. Father and son, so different yet united in their desire for her.
The scattered pieces of her clothing created a trail through the apartment, marking the progression of last night's passion. Her petticoat lay crumpled near the bedroom door where Vishnu had removed it. Her blouse had somehow ended up beneath the coffee table in the living room. Her bra hung from the arm of a chair, carelessly discarded in a moment of urgency.
Piece by piece, Devika collected her garments, assessing each for wearability. The white cotton of her petticoat bore slight stains—evidence of their shared pleasure that made her cheeks warm despite all they had done. She slipped it on nevertheless, tying the drawstring firmly around her waist.
Her bra followed, the simple cotton cups containing breasts still sensitive from attention. She fumbled with the clasp, eventually securing it before reaching for her blouse. The hooks had been stretched slightly from Dattu's eager removal, but they still functioned well enough to maintain modesty.
The lavender chiffon of her saree came last, its delicate fabric remarkably unwrinkled despite the night's activities. Devika wrapped it around herself with practiced movements, arranging the pleats precisely before dbanging the pallu over her shoulder. The transformation felt almost magical—each layer of fabric rebuilding the composed professor from the passionate woman of the previous night.
As she secured the final pin in her pallu, Devika heard rustling from the bedroom. She turned to find Dattu standing in the doorway, hastily wrapped in a faded lungi, his chest still bare. His hair stood in disarray, his eyes heavy with sleep yet brightening at the sight of her.
"You're leaving?" he asked, disappointment evident in his voice.
Devika nodded, smoothing her saree with nervous fingers. "I should go before neighbors notice."
Dattu crossed the room in three long strides, coming to stand before her. His weathered hand reached out, fingers brushing her cheek with surprising tenderness. "You look beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and emotion.
"I need to leave, Dattu," she repeated, though she made no move to step away from his touch.
"Wait," he said, his hand dropping reluctantly from her face. "At least have coffee before you go."
Before she could protest, he moved to the small kitchen area, filling a battered kettle with water and setting it on the stove. Devika watched as his bare back flexed with the simple movements, the muscles still defined despite his age. The domesticity of the moment struck her with unexpected force—this glimpse of what life might be like if she truly were his wife rather than merely playing the role for a night.
"You don't need to do this," she said softly.
"I want to," he replied simply, measuring coffee powder into two chipped mugs.
While the water heated, Dattu disappeared briefly into the bedroom, emerging moments later wearing a faded shirt and cotton pants. His feet remained bare as he padded across the small living area, his movements quieter than she would have expected from a man of his size.
The kettle whistled, breaking the morning stillness. Dattu prepared their coffee with careful attention, adding sugar to hers without asking—somehow knowing exactly how she preferred it. He brought the steaming mug to her, their fingers brushing during the exchange.
"Stay a little longer," he urged, his eyes holding hers over the rim of his cup. "Just to finish your coffee."
Devika glanced at her watch—barely seven thirty, still early enough that her departure wouldn't raise questions among the neighbors. "Alright," she conceded. "Just for coffee."
They sipped in companionable silence, the only sound the occasional rustle of her saree when she shifted position. Dattu watched her with undisguised admiration, his gaze traveling the length of her body with the same hunger he'd shown the previous night, despite all they had shared.
"You're more beautiful now than yesterday," he observed suddenly.
Devika raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her expression. "In wrinkled clothes with unbrushed hair?"
Dattu nodded earnestly. "In saree, you're even sexier than naked," he declared, setting his empty cup aside. "Something about knowing what's underneath but not seeing it directly."
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite her intention to maintain distance. "That's a very poetic observation from a mechanic."
"I may work with my hands," Dattu replied, moving closer until he stood directly before her, "but I notice beautiful things."
His calloused palms settled on her waist, fingers spreading to encompass the curve of her hips through the layers of her saree. The heat of his touch penetrated the fabric, warming her skin beneath.
"Your hips," he murmured, his thumbs pressing gently into the soft flesh, "are perfect for a man's hands. Made to be held like this."
Devika set her cup down on the nearby table, her hands coming to rest lightly against his chest. "Dattu," she said softly, intending to create distance but somehow finding herself drawing closer.
"Those eyes," he continued, his gaze fixed on her face. "The way they change with your thoughts. And your smile—rare but worth waiting for."
Before she could formulate a response, Dattu leaned forward, capturing her lips with his. Unlike the desperate hunger of the previous night, this kiss held a different quality—tender yet thorough, as if he sought to memorize the texture and taste of her mouth.
Devika responded despite herself, her lips parting to welcome the familiar intrusion of his tongue. The bitter taste of coffee mingled with the ever-present paan, creating a flavor that had become uniquely his in her mind. Their tongues engaged in a slow dance, exploring territories already mapped but no less exciting for their familiarity.
Minutes stretched as they remained locked together, the kiss deepening as Dattu's hands tightened on her hips, drawing her more firmly against him. Devika's fingers threaded through his hair, cradling the back of his head as she matched his intensity with her own.
Time seemed to lose meaning as they stood in the center of the small living room, connected only by mouth and hands. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen, neither willing to break the spell that had fallen over them with the morning light.
Dattu's hands began to wander, sliding over the curves of her buttocks, squeezing with appreciative pressure that drew a soft moan from Devika's throat. The sound vibrated between their joined lips, spurring him to greater boldness.
"One more time," he murmured against her mouth, his meaning unmistakable. "Let me have you once more before you go."
Reality crashed back upon Devika with those words. She drew back slightly, her hands moving to his chest to create separation between their bodies. "I can't," she said gently, regret evident in her tone. "I've already given more than I ever intended."
Disappointment flashed across Dattu's weathered features, quickly masked with understanding. "I had to try," he admitted, his hands reluctantly releasing her.
Devika reached up, her fingers tracing the lines of his face with unexpected tenderness. "Thank you for understanding," she whispered, pressing a final, chaste kiss to his lips before stepping back completely.
She gathered her handbag from where it had been abandoned the previous evening, checking that her phone and keys remained inside. With each practical action, she felt herself rebuilding the walls between Devika the passionate woman and Dr. Devika the respectable professor.
Dattu watched her preparations in silence, his expression a complex mixture of satisfaction and loss. As she moved toward the door, he stepped forward once more, capturing her hand in his.
"This doesn't have to be goodbye forever," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Devika squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. "Take care of yourself, Dattu," she replied, neither confirming nor denying the possibility of future encounters.
With a final nod, she slipped through the door and into the morning light, leaving behind the small apartment where boundaries had been crossed and identities transformed in the space of a single night.
Her eyes fluttered open to find her mouth still connected to Dattu's, their lips sealed together in sleep just as they had been when consciousness had left her. His weathered face was relaxed in slumber, deep lines softened by the morning light, his breath emerging in steady rumbles through his nose. They had remained this way through the entire night—locked in an unconscious kiss, as if their bodies refused to break the connection even as their minds surrendered to exhaustion.
Carefully, Devika extricated herself from his embrace, gently pulling her lips from his without disturbing his sleep. He stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping his throat before he settled back into steady breathing. Behind her, Vishnu remained deeply asleep, one arm still dbangd possessively across her waist.
With practiced movements born from years of rising without waking Rajeevan, Devika slipped from between them. Her bare feet touched the cool floor, sending a small shiver through her naked body. The air felt cool against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs as she padded silently toward the bathroom.
Closing the door with a quiet click, she finally allowed herself to examine her reflection in the small mirror above the sink. The woman who stared back barely resembled the composed professor who had arrived at this apartment yesterday evening.
Her hair, normally neat and controlled, cascaded in wild tangles around her shoulders. Her lips appeared slightly swollen from hours of kissing, the corners reddened from the scratch of Dattu's beard. Small marks dotted her neck and shoulders—evidence of passionate attention that would require careful concealment beneath her high-necked blouses.
With clinical detachment, Devika cataloged the changes in her body. Slight bruises had formed on her hips where fingers had gripped too tightly in moments of abandon. The skin between her thighs felt tender, sensitive from extended use. A particular soreness radiated from behind, reminder of territories explored for the first time.
She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping beneath the spray. The warm water sluiced over her body, washing away physical evidence of the night's activities while leaving the memories untouched. She closed her eyes, allowing the water to stream over her face as images flashed behind her eyelids—Dattu's weathered hands exploring her curves, Vishnu's eager mouth claiming hers, father and son united in their worship of her body.
As she lathered soap across her skin, Devika found herself touching the marks they'd left with strange tenderness rather than regret. Each bruise, each tender spot represented a moment of connection, of being truly desired after months of Rajeevan's indifference.
She completed her ablutions with methodical efficiency, washing her hair with the unfamiliar soap provided, rinsing thoroughly before shutting off the water. The small towel barely covered her as she dried herself, dabbing carefully at sensitive areas.
When she emerged from the bathroom, both men remained asleep, their naked forms sprawled across the rumpled sheets. For a moment, Devika stood watching them—Dattu's weathered body bearing the marks of decades of manual labor, Vishnu's smoother form still holding the firmness of youth. Father and son, so different yet united in their desire for her.
The scattered pieces of her clothing created a trail through the apartment, marking the progression of last night's passion. Her petticoat lay crumpled near the bedroom door where Vishnu had removed it. Her blouse had somehow ended up beneath the coffee table in the living room. Her bra hung from the arm of a chair, carelessly discarded in a moment of urgency.
Piece by piece, Devika collected her garments, assessing each for wearability. The white cotton of her petticoat bore slight stains—evidence of their shared pleasure that made her cheeks warm despite all they had done. She slipped it on nevertheless, tying the drawstring firmly around her waist.
Her bra followed, the simple cotton cups containing breasts still sensitive from attention. She fumbled with the clasp, eventually securing it before reaching for her blouse. The hooks had been stretched slightly from Dattu's eager removal, but they still functioned well enough to maintain modesty.
The lavender chiffon of her saree came last, its delicate fabric remarkably unwrinkled despite the night's activities. Devika wrapped it around herself with practiced movements, arranging the pleats precisely before dbanging the pallu over her shoulder. The transformation felt almost magical—each layer of fabric rebuilding the composed professor from the passionate woman of the previous night.
As she secured the final pin in her pallu, Devika heard rustling from the bedroom. She turned to find Dattu standing in the doorway, hastily wrapped in a faded lungi, his chest still bare. His hair stood in disarray, his eyes heavy with sleep yet brightening at the sight of her.
"You're leaving?" he asked, disappointment evident in his voice.
Devika nodded, smoothing her saree with nervous fingers. "I should go before neighbors notice."
Dattu crossed the room in three long strides, coming to stand before her. His weathered hand reached out, fingers brushing her cheek with surprising tenderness. "You look beautiful in the morning light," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and emotion.
"I need to leave, Dattu," she repeated, though she made no move to step away from his touch.
"Wait," he said, his hand dropping reluctantly from her face. "At least have coffee before you go."
Before she could protest, he moved to the small kitchen area, filling a battered kettle with water and setting it on the stove. Devika watched as his bare back flexed with the simple movements, the muscles still defined despite his age. The domesticity of the moment struck her with unexpected force—this glimpse of what life might be like if she truly were his wife rather than merely playing the role for a night.
"You don't need to do this," she said softly.
"I want to," he replied simply, measuring coffee powder into two chipped mugs.
While the water heated, Dattu disappeared briefly into the bedroom, emerging moments later wearing a faded shirt and cotton pants. His feet remained bare as he padded across the small living area, his movements quieter than she would have expected from a man of his size.
The kettle whistled, breaking the morning stillness. Dattu prepared their coffee with careful attention, adding sugar to hers without asking—somehow knowing exactly how she preferred it. He brought the steaming mug to her, their fingers brushing during the exchange.
"Stay a little longer," he urged, his eyes holding hers over the rim of his cup. "Just to finish your coffee."
Devika glanced at her watch—barely seven thirty, still early enough that her departure wouldn't raise questions among the neighbors. "Alright," she conceded. "Just for coffee."
They sipped in companionable silence, the only sound the occasional rustle of her saree when she shifted position. Dattu watched her with undisguised admiration, his gaze traveling the length of her body with the same hunger he'd shown the previous night, despite all they had shared.
"You're more beautiful now than yesterday," he observed suddenly.
Devika raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her expression. "In wrinkled clothes with unbrushed hair?"
Dattu nodded earnestly. "In saree, you're even sexier than naked," he declared, setting his empty cup aside. "Something about knowing what's underneath but not seeing it directly."
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite her intention to maintain distance. "That's a very poetic observation from a mechanic."
"I may work with my hands," Dattu replied, moving closer until he stood directly before her, "but I notice beautiful things."
His calloused palms settled on her waist, fingers spreading to encompass the curve of her hips through the layers of her saree. The heat of his touch penetrated the fabric, warming her skin beneath.
"Your hips," he murmured, his thumbs pressing gently into the soft flesh, "are perfect for a man's hands. Made to be held like this."
Devika set her cup down on the nearby table, her hands coming to rest lightly against his chest. "Dattu," she said softly, intending to create distance but somehow finding herself drawing closer.
"Those eyes," he continued, his gaze fixed on her face. "The way they change with your thoughts. And your smile—rare but worth waiting for."
Before she could formulate a response, Dattu leaned forward, capturing her lips with his. Unlike the desperate hunger of the previous night, this kiss held a different quality—tender yet thorough, as if he sought to memorize the texture and taste of her mouth.
Devika responded despite herself, her lips parting to welcome the familiar intrusion of his tongue. The bitter taste of coffee mingled with the ever-present paan, creating a flavor that had become uniquely his in her mind. Their tongues engaged in a slow dance, exploring territories already mapped but no less exciting for their familiarity.
Minutes stretched as they remained locked together, the kiss deepening as Dattu's hands tightened on her hips, drawing her more firmly against him. Devika's fingers threaded through his hair, cradling the back of his head as she matched his intensity with her own.
Time seemed to lose meaning as they stood in the center of the small living room, connected only by mouth and hands. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen, neither willing to break the spell that had fallen over them with the morning light.
Dattu's hands began to wander, sliding over the curves of her buttocks, squeezing with appreciative pressure that drew a soft moan from Devika's throat. The sound vibrated between their joined lips, spurring him to greater boldness.
"One more time," he murmured against her mouth, his meaning unmistakable. "Let me have you once more before you go."
Reality crashed back upon Devika with those words. She drew back slightly, her hands moving to his chest to create separation between their bodies. "I can't," she said gently, regret evident in her tone. "I've already given more than I ever intended."
Disappointment flashed across Dattu's weathered features, quickly masked with understanding. "I had to try," he admitted, his hands reluctantly releasing her.
Devika reached up, her fingers tracing the lines of his face with unexpected tenderness. "Thank you for understanding," she whispered, pressing a final, chaste kiss to his lips before stepping back completely.
She gathered her handbag from where it had been abandoned the previous evening, checking that her phone and keys remained inside. With each practical action, she felt herself rebuilding the walls between Devika the passionate woman and Dr. Devika the respectable professor.
Dattu watched her preparations in silence, his expression a complex mixture of satisfaction and loss. As she moved toward the door, he stepped forward once more, capturing her hand in his.
"This doesn't have to be goodbye forever," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Devika squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. "Take care of yourself, Dattu," she replied, neither confirming nor denying the possibility of future encounters.
With a final nod, she slipped through the door and into the morning light, leaving behind the small apartment where boundaries had been crossed and identities transformed in the space of a single night.
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