Adultery Radiance of Vanitha

[adams_masala]

Chapter 32: The Silver Fox’s Confession

Selvam had spent decades mastering the art of discipline, a skill that had served him well in business, in family matters, and in the quiet governance of his own desires. Yet tonight, as the clock ticked past midnight and the house settled into its nocturnal rhythms, that hard-won control was slipping through his fingers like water.


He moved through his bedtime routine with mechanical precision: the glass of water on the nightstand, the lamp adjusted to its lowest setting, his white veshti tied loosely around his waist. The spartan bedroom reflected his philosophy, nothing excessive, everything in its proper place. But his mind refused to follow suit, wandering instead to the woman in the room next door.

"This is madness," he whispered to himself, pressing his palms against his eyes. "You made a promise. To yourself. To Ashok."

The silence mocked his attempts at self-restraint. Even the walls seemed to remember the sounds of their lovemaking, the whispered confessions, the promises neither of them had been strong enough to keep.

His phone glowed on the bed beside him. He'd been staring at it for nearly an hour, the screen opening repeatedly to Instagram before he forced himself to close it again. But his resolve was weakening with each passing minute, like a dam developing hairline fractures under mounting pressure.

"Just once," he told himself. "Just to see."

With a sigh of surrender, he opened the app. Vanitha's latest reel was at the top of his feed, as if the algorithm itself understood his weakness. His thumb hovered over the thumbnail a flash of gold fabric, the curve of her waist, that damned hook that had haunted him all evening.

He pressed play.

The fifteen-second clipbegan to play, and Selvam felt his breath catch in his throat. Vanitha moved with hypnotic grace, each gesture deliberate and seductive. The gold choli glinted under studio lights, its backless design revealing the smooth expanse of her skin. As she turned, the hook at her back caught the light, a tiny golden beacon that seemed to taunt him with its fragility.

His body responded immediately, a primal reaction he couldn't control. The thin cotton of his veshti did nothing to hide his arousal, the fabric tenting noticeably as he hardened. He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position on the bed, but his eyes never left the screen.

When the reel ended, he watched it again. And again. Each time noticing new details: the slight quiver of the fabric as she moved, the way her fingers brushed her navel, the heavy swing of the gold waist chain as her hips swayed. He watched her lips part, the subtle arch of her back, the deliberate exposure that was somehow more erotic than full nudity could ever be.

Heat spread through his body, pooling low in his abdomen. His hand moved unconsciously to his lap, fingers brushing against his hardness through the veshti. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he snatched his hand away as if burned. His cock was throbbing as he gently grazed the skin before he reminded himself Vanitha is his daughter-in-law and he can’t repeat the same mistake.

But his eyes returned to the screen, drawn now to the comments section. He scrolled through them, his jaw tightening with each crude remark, each explicit fantasy strangers shared about Vanitha's body. Men who had never met her, never known the sound of her laughter or the depth of her ambition, reducing her to nothing but flesh to be consumed.

"Disgusting," he muttered, but kept scrolling, a masochistic impulse he couldn't stop. The comments grew increasingly vulgar, men describing in explicit detail what they'd do to her, how they'd take her, what they'd make her feel. Each word twisted something in Selvam's gut a toxic blend of disgust, jealousy, and territorial rage.

His eyes locked on one comment that made his blood boil:

“I want to stand behind you and slowly unhook that golden clasp at your back, feeling the horizontal strap go loose in my fingers. I wouldn’t take the choli off, just let it hang there, barely covering you, the fabric dbangd over your breasts but no longer holding them. Then I’d slide my arms around from behind, slipping my hands under that loose gold fabric, and cup your perfect breasts while the choli stays on, just hanging there useless, the way it was always meant to be undone ?”

Selvam's hand clenched around the phone so tightly his knuckles went white. The thought of some stranger any man standing behind Vanitha, touching that hook that had taunted him all day, filled him with a possessive fury that shocked him with its intensity. He could picture it with devastating clarity: those clumsy, unworthy fingers fumbling with the clasp he'd seen on her reel for hours now.

Without conscious thought, he found himself typing a response as SilverFox77:

"Have some respect. She is "Have some respect. She is a woman of culture and talent, not a vessel for your crude fantasies. This kind of comment isn't appreciation, it's harassment."

His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. Then he hit send before he could reconsider. The comment appeared under his SilverFox77 handle, standing in stark contrast to the explicit remarks surrounding it.

A rush of satisfaction flowed through him, quickly followed by panic. Had he just revealed he’s looking at her videos in the middle of the night? Would Vanitha notice his comment, realize he'd been watching her videos in secret? His heart raced as he scrolled through more comments, finding several others that made his protective instincts flare.

One particularly vulgar comment about Vanitha's navel drove him to respond again

"Reported for harassment. Learn the difference between appreciation and objectification."

His eyes locked on another comment,

"I'd grab that thick gold waist chain HARD and use it to pull you back against me. I'd fuck you from behind while holding onto that chain like reins, yanking it with every thrust so you feel the chain gently press against your cute navel."

one describing in lurid detail what they'd do with Vanitha's waist chain, how they'd use it to control her, to fuck her from behind, to mark her. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine his own hands on that chain, feeling its weight, using it to guide Vanitha's body against his own. His cock twitched forcefully beneath the veshti, and he inhaled sharply at the unwanted response. His fingers moved to type another rebuke, but he paused, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

"This is exactly why women hesitate to share their work," he typed, his fingers stabbing at the screen. "Get help."

He hit send, then closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath through his nose. What was he doing? Defending her honor like some kind of digital knight? Or was it jealousy raw and primal that drove him to mark his territory over Vanitha in the digital space? The distinction felt dangerously blurred.

In the adjacent room, Vanitha lay across her bed, still wearing the gold choli that had caused such a stir online. She had removed the saree hours ago, letting it pool on the floor like liquid sunshine, but something had stopped her from taking off the blouse. Perhaps it was vanity the way the silk clung to her curves, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and the narrowness of her waist. Or perhaps it was the memory of how powerful she'd felt wearing it, commanding the attention of thousands with nothing but fabric and skin.

Her petticoat remained, riding low on her hips, the waistband folded down to expose more of her midriff. The gold chain still encircled her waist, its links pressing faint indentations into her flesh. In the dim light of her bedside lamp, she looked like a temple sculpture brought to life all bronze skin and golden, a goddess of her own making.

Her phone vibrated against the mattress, startling her from a half-dream. She reached for it lazily, expecting another notification from her post. Instead, she found herself staring at a comment thread where SilverFox77 had responded to the crude remarks with unexpected ferocity.

"Have some respect. She is a woman of culture and talent, not a vessel for your crude fantasies..."

Vanitha blinked, reading the comment again. Then she scrolled up, saw the vulgar fantasy SilverFox had responded to, and felt a curious heat spread through her. Not from the stranger's words, but from Selvam's defense of her.

Her lips curved into a smile. So he had been watching. Not just watching, but feeling possessive enough to stake his claim in the public sphere.

First she was pleasantly surprised Selvam is watching her videos at this hour after all the resolve he took to be faithful to Ashok. She felt a rush of satisfaction knowing he couldn't resist watching her, even after his promises of restraint. She read his comments again, noting the protective tone, the indignation on her behalf. It was endearing and, if she was honest with herself, arousing to see his jealousy so plainly displayed.

Her finger hovered over the comment, then tapped the message icon. Before she could reconsider, she opened a direct message to SilverFox77:

"Thank you for standing up for me, mama. I didn't expect to see you there tonight."

She hit send, then waited, her heart suddenly racing. Would he respond? Would he pretend he hadn't seen her message?

In his room, Selvam's phone lit up with the notification. His stomach dropped as he saw Vanitha's username and the preview of her message. She had seen his comments. His heart hammered in his chest as he read the message again. She had caught him. After all his promises, all his declarations of restraint, she had caught him watching her video in the dead of night.

Selvam's fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed with indecision. He could ignore the message, pretend to be asleep, maintain the fiction that he was stronger than this temptation. But the thought of leaving her waiting, wondering if he had seen her words, felt cruel in a way he couldn't stomach.

With a resigned sigh, he typed:

"I couldn't sleep. Saw the notification. Those comments crossed a line."

He sent the message, then immediately regretted the coldness of his tone. It was too formal, too distant, a poor mask for the tumult beneath.

In her room, Vanitha smiled at the quick response. She rolled onto her stomach, the movement causing the hook of her choli to dig slightly into her back. The small discomfort was a pleasant reminder of how exposed she was, how little separated her from being completely bare.
"But did you like it, mama? The reel, I mean. Or were you just hate-watching the comments?"

Selvam stared at her message, his throat suddenly dry. The question demanded honesty, something he'd been avoiding giving himself. He shifted on the bed, his arousal still evident beneath the thin fabric of his veshti.

He typed and deleted several responses before settling on:

"I... it's beautifully composed. The craftsmanship of the choli is remarkable. Traditional aesthetics done right."

Vanitha read his response and laughed softly to herself. Even now, he hid behind formality and artistic appreciation. She rolled onto her back, feeling the hook of the choli press into her spine, a delicious reminder of how easily it could come undone.

"That's a very diplomatic answer, SilverFox77," she typed back, her fingers moving swift Selvam stared at her words, the challenge in them unmistakable. The carefully constructed wall of propriety he'd built was crumbling with each message. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed his response.

"What do you want me to say?"

The message hung between them, a question that contained its own answer. In the darkness of his room, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the ceiling fan's steady whirl.

Vanitha's lips curved into a smile as she read his reply. The vulnerability in those six words thrilled her more than any explicit confession could have. She sat up, the movement causing the gold chain to shift against her skin with a soft metallic whisper. The hook at her back flexed as she adjusted her position, a reminder of how precariously the fabric clung to her body.

"The truth," she typed. "Did you like seeing me in it?" Selvam's heart stuttered in his chest. The simple question cut through his defenses like a hot knife through ghee. In the silence between messages, he could hear his own shallow breathing, feel the insistent throbbing beneath his veshti. The truth. What was the truth, when it came to Vanitha? That he had watched her video not once but a dozen times? That he had memorized every curve, every flash of gold, every moment when the fabric threatened to reveal what it promised to conceal?

He stared at the ceiling, gathering courage, then typed with trembling fingers:

"I loved it. But not everyone sees with creative eyes. Most people see... what they want to take."

In her room, Vanitha's breath caught. The admission, so simple yet so loaded, sent a tremor through her body. She rolled onto her side, feeling the hook at her back shift with her movement. 

"And what did you see?" Vanitha asked, her pulse quickening beneath the gold chain.

Selvam paused, weighing how much truth he could afford to reveal. His arousal throbbed insistently beneath the veshti, a physical reminder of his body's betrayal of his principles.

"I saw you. All of you. The performance, yes, but also... the woman beneath it."

Vanitha's lips parted at his response. The words kindled something warm and liquid in her core. She ran her fingertips along the edge of the choli where it met her skin, savoring the contrast between cool silk and heated flesh.

"Have you thought about me?" she typed, then paused, heart hammering, before adding, "Not as your daughter-in-law, not as Ashok's Vanitha. As... that girl in the gold choli?"

Selvam's arousal intensified as he read her message, his hand unconsciously sliding to his stomach. The veshti tented prominently now, his body's response impossible to ignore. He felt caught between desire and duty, between the man he'd promised to be and the man he truly was beneath those promises.

"I shouldn't answer that," he finally typed, though every cell in his body screamed to confess the truth.

"But you want to," came her immediate reply.

Selvam closed his eyes, the phone's glow illuminating his conflicted expression. The wall between their rooms suddenly felt paper-thin, as if he could hear her breathing just beyond it. He imagined her lying there in that gold choli, waiting for his response, perhaps touching the hook at her back and wondering if he would come to undo it.

"Yes," he admitted, the single word containing multitudes.

She closed her eyes, feeling desire and power surge through her in equal measure. She’d known, hadn’t she? On some level, she’d always known. The tension between them hans’t diminished even a little, it was mutual recognition.

“Mama, when you read those comments, did you think about me the way those men in the comments did? Not with their words, but with their… hunger?” 

Selvam's fingers tightened imperceptibly on his phone. The question hung between them like a live wire, dangerous and electric. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes darkening with something primal that he could no longer disguise.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through the room. "But worse. Much worse."

He set the phone down carefully, as if it might detonate. The screen still glowed with those crude comments about her body, her navel, the gold hook at her back.

"Those men, they only imagine. But I know how your body feels like, I remember." His eyes traveled over her body with such focused intensity that Vanitha felt the path like a physical touch. "I know exactly how that hook feels between my fingers. How your skin tastes when you've been wearing gold against it all day."

He continued "But not like them. Not... crudely." His eyes met hers across the digital divide, dark with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I read their words and hated them for seeing you as a body to be used. Then I hated myself because beneath that anger was... jealousy."
The confession hung between them, electric and dangerous. Vanitha's fingers tightened around her phone, her knuckles whitening against the case.
“Did you think about the way this one guy describe how he’d unhook me from behind?” she pressed

Selvam's chest tightened as he read her question. The comment she referenced had been the one that ignited his possessive fury most intensely, the stranger's fantasy of unhooking her choli from behind.
"That one," he typed, his breathing shallow, "was the worst. Because I could see it so clearly in my mind. Not him doing it, me."

“Doing what, mama?” 

"Undoing that hook," Selvam replied, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. "Standing behind you, feeling the warmth of your skin against my fingertips. Watching your choli loosen but not fall away immediately. Seeing the tension in your shoulders as you wait, not knowing what comes next."
Vanitha's body responded to his words with a wave of heat that coursed through her, settling between her thighs. She shifted on the bed, feeling the delicious friction of the petticoat against her sensitized skin.

“What if I told you I’m wearing it right now? The choli. No saree. Just the choli and that chain. And I’m in my bedroom right next to yours, with nothing but a wall between us.”

She watched the dots appear and disappear three times. She wondered if he was breathing as hard as she was, if his body was responding the way hers was, heat and need and the terrible clarity of wanting something you shouldn’t have.

“Are you?” He asked knowing the answer.

“Does it matter? In your mind, I am. Right now, while we’re typing, you’re seeing me in it. You’re imagining that hook, that bare back, the choli hanging loose on my shoulders. You’re thinking about how easy it would be to walk through that door.”

“Stop.” Selvam typed feverishly.

“Why? Because you want to? Because you’re already imagining it? Tell me what you’d do if you did. If you opened your door, walked down the hall, and found my room unlocked.”

The pause was the longest yet, nearly three minutes of agonizing silence. Vanitha stared at the screen until her eyes burned, wondering if she’d pushed too far, if the spell would break and leave only shame in its wake.

Then his message came, and it was raw, unfiltered, stripped of all his careful control.

“I would stand in your doorway for a moment, just looking at you. Memorizing you. The reality of you, not the fantasy. Then I’d walk to you slowly enough that you could stop me. I’d come behind you and trace that horizontal strap with my fingertips, feeling you shiver. I’d lean in close enough that you’d feel my breath on your spine. And then I’d whisper: ‘Tell me to stop.’ Because I need to hear you say you want this as much as I do. I need permission to ruin us both.”

Vanitha’s hand trembled so badly she almost dropped the phone.

“And if I didn’t tell you to stop?”

“Then I’d undo that hook. And everything we’ve been pretending wouldn’t happen… would happen.”

Vanitha sat up fully, her heart a war drum in her chest. She looked at her closed door, then back at her phone. She typed three words, deleted them, typed them again.

“My door is unlocked.”

She hit send before she could reconsider.

The dots appeared immediately, pulsed, then vanished. No response came. She stared at the screen, counting seconds, then minutes.

From beyond the wall, she heard it: the creak of bedsprings. A footstep. The soft click of a door opening.

Then silence.