15-03-2026, 07:40 PM
(This post was last modified: 15-03-2026, 07:53 PM by heygiwriter. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Chapter 11: Jeeva stays with Anandhi.
“Yes,” Suriya said, voice dropping lower. “I am. Her husband is my friend. He may be away, but she’s got a husband. I’m taking care of her. Got the message? Now go.”
The words landed like a slap.
Taking care of her.
Jeeva’s blood surged hot. The double meaning sliced through him—protective neighbor… or something more?
The chemical storm inside him flared; his cock twitched hard against his jeans, sudden and painful, thickening in seconds at the thought of Suriya near Anandhi. He fought it down, nails digging into his palms.
“You don’t know me,” Jeeva said, voice low and dangerous. “And you don’t know what I’m here for.”
Suriya’s eyes narrowed further. “I know men like you.
Young, cocky, thinking a pretty woman alone is easy prey. She’s not. Walk away.”
Jeeva opened his mouth to snap back—then froze.
Footsteps. Light, familiar, coming up the stairs.
Anandhi appeared at the top of the landing.
She carried a small cloth bag of vegetables in one hand, textbook tucked under her arm, cream saree with faint gold trim swaying gently with each step. Riya and Rohan bounded at her sides—college bags bouncing, Riya clutching a drawing, Rohan kicking a pebble along the floor. Anandhi’s fair white skin caught the dim corridor light like polished marble; black hair pinned in a tight, practical bun with a few rebellious strands escaping to frame her face. The saree pallu had slipped slightly on the climb, exposing the soft curve of her waist and the gentle swell of her hip. Her 34D bust rose and fell with each breath, straining gently against the blouse, nipples faintly outlined under the thin fabric from the evening humidity.
Her eyes lifted—and locked on Jeeva.
For one heartbeat, the world stopped.
Her breath caught visibly. The bag trembled in her grip. The textbook slipped an inch.
“Rahul…?”
The name escaped her lips in a whisper—soft, disbelieving, full of old love and sudden pain.
Jeeva’s heart slammed against his ribs. His cock surged again—throbbing painfully against the denim, head slick and straining, the chemical sensitivity making every pulse feel like a fist around him.
He couldn’t breathe.
Anandhi’s eyes shimmered. She took one step forward, then another—slow, as if afraid he would vanish.
“My Rahul…”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Riya and Rohan froze mid-step, staring at the tall stranger who looked so much like the father they barely remembered.
Suriya’s head snapped toward her. “Anandhi, you know this guy?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed glued to Jeeva—wide, wet, searching.
Jeeva swallowed hard. His voice came out rough, younger, unfamiliar even to himself.
“I’m… Jeeva.”
Her hand froze mid-air, fingers trembling as if to touch his cheek.
Suriya stepped forward, voice sharp. “Anandhi—”
“How…?” Anandhi whispered, eyes never leaving Jeeva’s face. “How come you look same like Rahul… are you his some sort of secret son?”
Jeeva laughed—short, easy, practiced. “Many would doubt. You know Selvaraj—Rahul’s father’s brother? Even grandfather had this face resemblance. Chin broader on some, eyes shorter or longer on others… not much difference. See for yourself.”
He pulled out his phone, thumbed open a photo he’d AI-edited earlier—old family pictures stitched together, faces blurred just enough to sell the lie. Most looked eerily similar: same jawline, same intense eyes, same height. He held it out.
Anandhi leaned in, breath catching as she scanned the screen. Her fingers brushed his as she took the phone—warm, trembling. Jeeva’s cock jerked violently in his jeans, pre-cum soaking through in a sudden rush. He clenched his jaw to keep from groaning.
She looked up, eyes shining. “It’s… uncanny.”
Jeeva shrugged. “Family genes. I can explain more, but… would you mind if a guest stands in the corridor forever?”
Anandhi blinked, cheeks flushing. “Sorry—come in. Please.”
She turned without another word, unlocking the door with shaking hands. She didn’t even glance at Suriya. Her mind was fully occupied by the impossible resemblance, the ghost of Rahul standing in her doorway.
Suriya’s face darkened. He stepped forward. “Anandhi, I thought he was some rowdy or rough trying to hit on you—a lone woman—so I warned him.”
She paused, half-turning. “That’s okay, sir.”
The words were polite, distant. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes flicked back to Jeeva—soft, searching, almost hungry.
“Come in,” she said again, voice warm, inviting, pulling the door wide.
Jeeva shot Suriya one last cold glance—lips curling into a wicked, private smile.
“She didn’t even look at him. ‘Taking care’—my foot.”
He stepped past the threshold.
The door shut with a soft thud.
Inside, the aroma of cumin and turmeric wafted from the kitchen. The small flat felt exactly as he remembered—walls faded yellow, worn sofa, kids’ drawings pinned to the wall. Riya and Rohan dumped their bags and ran to the sofa, giggling.
Anandhi turned to Jeeva. “You look exactly like my Rahul.”
Her words washed over him—a balm to a mind scarred by betrayal. Relief surged, sudden and sharp.
“She’s pure. Dedicated. No boundaries crossed.”
He pulled out a small packet of sweets—ghee-soaked laddoos—and plastic toys he’d grabbed last-minute: cars for Rohan, a doll for Riya. The kids squealed, tearing wrappers, laughter bouncing off the walls.
Anandhi sat on the sofa edge, saree rustling. “Tell me.”
The lies flowed smoothly.
“I’m a relative—distant cousin. I ran away from home because they tried to force me into a marriage with some wealthy girl. I’m waiting for admission to a foreign university. Once it comes, I’ll leave.”
Her eyes softened. A faint blush crept up her neck as she looked at his face. “You’ve got his spark.”
Jeeva teased, voice low. “Don’t look at me like that. A woman gazing at a man like that means trouble.”
She laughed—soft, genuine. “You’ve got his face. How can’t I blush?”
Then she sobered. “But… don’t see me as sister-in-law. See me as a real sister. Issue fixed.”
Her smile held—trust pure, unguarded.
Then the important question came.
“Ever since your family threw us out, no one contacted us. How did you find the address? And… it’s been a week since Rahul picked up my call. I’m worried.”
Jeeva leaned forward, voice gentle.
“Everyone’s searching for me—my family knows they cut ties with Rahul, so naturally they won’t look here. That’s why I came. I have some cash I earned myself. If you need it, take it. Just give me a few months’ stay.”
Anandhi playfully swatted his hand. “More than money, a relative here is what feels earned. Stay as long as you need. Your brother didn’t stay here long—he sacrificed himself for the family. At least I’ll see your face and get some relaxation.”
The words hit like a punch.
Jeeva felt the pain twist deep. He badly wanted to reveal himself—right then, right there. Pull her into his arms, tell her everything, end the charade.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He wasn’t sure of anything. Suriya’s claim—“I’m taking care of her”—still gnawed at him. The chemical storm still raged inside. Doubt still whispered.
Night fell.
He played with Riya and Rohan—plastic cars zoomed across the scratched wooden floor, dolls danced. Laughter bounced off cracked walls.
Anandhi emerged from the kitchen in comfort nightwear—a loose kurta that clung tight across her chest. The 34D breast pressed hard against the fabric, nipples faintly visible through the thin cotton, curves singing with every movement as she readied his bed—sheets smoothed, pillow fluffed.
Kids barged back—play stretched until 11 PM. They slumped asleep. Anandhi carried them—one by one—Riya’s arms dangling, Rohan’s head lolling. The kurta stretched tight as she bent, outlining every curve.
Jeeva watched.
“What assets—lips, boobs, shape, ass—who wouldn’t crave her?”
He grinned darkly. “Her fault—born gorgeous.”
Then he sank onto the guest cot.
Sleep came fast, heavy, pulling him under like black water.
He was back in the flat — the same faded yellow walls, the same scratched wooden floor, the same slow ceiling fan stirring warm air. But the light felt wrong — too golden, too soft, like candle flame instead of tube light. The air smelled stronger — cumin, turmeric, jasmine from her hair oil, and underneath it all, the musky, intimate scent of skin and anticipation.
Jeeva stood in the shadowed corner near the kitchen doorway, unseen, frozen. He tried to move — limbs locked. Tried to shout — throat sealed. All he could do was watch.
The front door creaked open — barely a whisper.
Suriya slipped inside.
He moved like a thief — silent, deliberate, six-foot-two of gym-carved muscle filling the space. Tight black T-shirt already half-soaked with sweat, clinging to every ridge of his six-pack, shorts riding low on powerful hips. His fair skin gleamed under the low lamp light, veins standing out on thick forearms. His dark eyes were hungry, locked on the bedroom door.
Anandhi lay in bed.
She was asleep — or appeared to be — lying on her side under a thin sheet, comfort nightwear slightly rumpled, one arm dbangd over the pillow. Her fair skin glowed in the dim light, black hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink, 34D breasts rising and falling with slow, even breaths, nipples faintly outlined through the thin cotton.
Suriya paused at the doorway — watching her for a long moment. Then he moved.
He crossed the room silently. Kneeled beside the bed. His large hands reached out — fingers hooking the hem of her nighty, slowly lifting it up her stomach. The fabric dragged over her skin — exposing the soft curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her lower belly, then higher — until her heavy breasts spilled free. Dark nipples stiffened instantly in the cool air, peaking hard as if begging for touch.
Jeeva’s chest locked. He wanted to scream — to lung to warn her. Nothing came out. His body wouldn’t obey.
Suriya’s hands moved lower — tugging the pants down her thighs. Anandhi’s legs parted slightly in sleep (or feigned sleep), exposing the soft mound between them — panties already darkened at the center. He peeled them aside slowly — revealing glistening folds, swollen clit peeking out.
Jeeva’s cock jerked violently in his jeans — throbbing painfully, pre-cum soaking through the denim in a sudden rush. Shame and rage warred inside him.
Suriya stood — unzipping. His cock sprang free — thick, veined, heavy, head already slick. He stroked himself once — slow, deliberate — then climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs. His muscular back blocked Jeeva’s view almost completely — broad shoulders, rippling lats, powerful ass flexing as he positioned himself.
Jeeva strained — desperate to see — but Suriya’s nude body filled the frame, blocking everything except glimpses: Anandhi’s suddenly woke up
Made Suriya getting Shocked.
her voice began.
“I’m not sleeping im just acting… to see what you’re up to.”
Clear. Calm. Amused.
Suriya laughed — low, triumphant.
So you are in
Anandhi sat up slowly — pushing Suriya back with surprising strength. She stood — completely nude now — nightwear discarded on the floor. Her body was breathtaking — 34D breasts full and heavy, nipples dark and stiff, waist narrowing to wide hips, thick thighs framing the glistening wetness between them. She walked straight toward Jeeva in the corner.
He couldn’t move.
She stopped inches away — close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the jasmine and arousal on her.
“Rahul,” she said softly, eyes mocking. “You leaked just seeing us together? We’re just nude… we haven’t even started yet. How come? So weak?”
Jeeva tried to speak im not weak now im with superior power, i will do twice the effect of suriya he wanted to say this but — mouth wouldn’t open. His cock strained painfully against his jeans — head slick, throbbing so hard it hurt. A wet spot spread visibly on the denim.
Suriya appeared behind her — naked, cock still hard, smirking over her shoulder.
Something striked, she called him Rahul and Suriya didnt seemed shocked so is Anandhi
“You know me,” Jeeva finally forced out, voice cracking. “I’m Rahul…”
Anandhi laughed — soft, cruel. “Yes… we know.”
Suriya’s hand slid around her waist — possessive — cupping one heavy breast, thumb flicking the stiff nipple. Anandhi leaned back into him, eyes never leaving Jeeva’s.
“You loser,” Suriya said.
Anandhi looked down — mocking — at the obvious bulge in Jeeva’s jeans, the dark wet patch spreading.
“Rahul… you’re done.”
She reached out — fingers brushing the front of his jeans, right over the throbbing head.
In a rage, Rahul kicked on Suriya, and a fight appears and Anandhi pushed Jeeva aka Rahul on cot.
Jeeva jolted awake.
ITS A DREAM
Cot empty. Flat dark. Fan still spinning slow.
Sweat soaked his shirt. His cock stood painfully hard against his jeans — throbbing, leaking — and he realized with a sick lurch that he had already come. Thick, hot cum had soaked through the denim in several pulses — sticky against his thigh, the musky scent filling the small room.
He sat up, breathing ragged, hand instinctively gripping his still-hard shaft through the wet fabric — one squeeze sending a shudder through him.
“Bad dream,” he told himself.
He was confused why off late he had been so turned on, sexually, his mood is too on, he is always horny, always getting horny erections.. He wanted to speak about this to Madhavan, after the transformation he is always horny.. he know this dreams are after math of incidents he saw or he suspect and chemical reactions.
He knows Anandhi is not cheating and pure, thought its early he still needs to check more stay with her test her fidelity ..
But Suriya’s words still gnawed.
“I take care of her.”
Doubt crept deeper.
Was it just a dream… or a glimpse of something already happening?
Eighty-seven days burned.
Soon he would test her.
Soon he would find out how real that mocking smile had been.
He decided to watch them more carefully, following Suriya going to be his top priority now.
“Yes,” Suriya said, voice dropping lower. “I am. Her husband is my friend. He may be away, but she’s got a husband. I’m taking care of her. Got the message? Now go.”
The words landed like a slap.
Taking care of her.
Jeeva’s blood surged hot. The double meaning sliced through him—protective neighbor… or something more?
The chemical storm inside him flared; his cock twitched hard against his jeans, sudden and painful, thickening in seconds at the thought of Suriya near Anandhi. He fought it down, nails digging into his palms.
“You don’t know me,” Jeeva said, voice low and dangerous. “And you don’t know what I’m here for.”
Suriya’s eyes narrowed further. “I know men like you.
Young, cocky, thinking a pretty woman alone is easy prey. She’s not. Walk away.”
Jeeva opened his mouth to snap back—then froze.
Footsteps. Light, familiar, coming up the stairs.
Anandhi appeared at the top of the landing.
She carried a small cloth bag of vegetables in one hand, textbook tucked under her arm, cream saree with faint gold trim swaying gently with each step. Riya and Rohan bounded at her sides—college bags bouncing, Riya clutching a drawing, Rohan kicking a pebble along the floor. Anandhi’s fair white skin caught the dim corridor light like polished marble; black hair pinned in a tight, practical bun with a few rebellious strands escaping to frame her face. The saree pallu had slipped slightly on the climb, exposing the soft curve of her waist and the gentle swell of her hip. Her 34D bust rose and fell with each breath, straining gently against the blouse, nipples faintly outlined under the thin fabric from the evening humidity.
Her eyes lifted—and locked on Jeeva.
For one heartbeat, the world stopped.
Her breath caught visibly. The bag trembled in her grip. The textbook slipped an inch.
“Rahul…?”
The name escaped her lips in a whisper—soft, disbelieving, full of old love and sudden pain.
Jeeva’s heart slammed against his ribs. His cock surged again—throbbing painfully against the denim, head slick and straining, the chemical sensitivity making every pulse feel like a fist around him.
He couldn’t breathe.
Anandhi’s eyes shimmered. She took one step forward, then another—slow, as if afraid he would vanish.
“My Rahul…”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Riya and Rohan froze mid-step, staring at the tall stranger who looked so much like the father they barely remembered.
Suriya’s head snapped toward her. “Anandhi, you know this guy?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed glued to Jeeva—wide, wet, searching.
Jeeva swallowed hard. His voice came out rough, younger, unfamiliar even to himself.
“I’m… Jeeva.”
Her hand froze mid-air, fingers trembling as if to touch his cheek.
Suriya stepped forward, voice sharp. “Anandhi—”
“How…?” Anandhi whispered, eyes never leaving Jeeva’s face. “How come you look same like Rahul… are you his some sort of secret son?”
Jeeva laughed—short, easy, practiced. “Many would doubt. You know Selvaraj—Rahul’s father’s brother? Even grandfather had this face resemblance. Chin broader on some, eyes shorter or longer on others… not much difference. See for yourself.”
He pulled out his phone, thumbed open a photo he’d AI-edited earlier—old family pictures stitched together, faces blurred just enough to sell the lie. Most looked eerily similar: same jawline, same intense eyes, same height. He held it out.
Anandhi leaned in, breath catching as she scanned the screen. Her fingers brushed his as she took the phone—warm, trembling. Jeeva’s cock jerked violently in his jeans, pre-cum soaking through in a sudden rush. He clenched his jaw to keep from groaning.
She looked up, eyes shining. “It’s… uncanny.”
Jeeva shrugged. “Family genes. I can explain more, but… would you mind if a guest stands in the corridor forever?”
Anandhi blinked, cheeks flushing. “Sorry—come in. Please.”
She turned without another word, unlocking the door with shaking hands. She didn’t even glance at Suriya. Her mind was fully occupied by the impossible resemblance, the ghost of Rahul standing in her doorway.
Suriya’s face darkened. He stepped forward. “Anandhi, I thought he was some rowdy or rough trying to hit on you—a lone woman—so I warned him.”
She paused, half-turning. “That’s okay, sir.”
The words were polite, distant. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes flicked back to Jeeva—soft, searching, almost hungry.
“Come in,” she said again, voice warm, inviting, pulling the door wide.
Jeeva shot Suriya one last cold glance—lips curling into a wicked, private smile.
“She didn’t even look at him. ‘Taking care’—my foot.”
He stepped past the threshold.
The door shut with a soft thud.
Inside, the aroma of cumin and turmeric wafted from the kitchen. The small flat felt exactly as he remembered—walls faded yellow, worn sofa, kids’ drawings pinned to the wall. Riya and Rohan dumped their bags and ran to the sofa, giggling.
Anandhi turned to Jeeva. “You look exactly like my Rahul.”
Her words washed over him—a balm to a mind scarred by betrayal. Relief surged, sudden and sharp.
“She’s pure. Dedicated. No boundaries crossed.”
He pulled out a small packet of sweets—ghee-soaked laddoos—and plastic toys he’d grabbed last-minute: cars for Rohan, a doll for Riya. The kids squealed, tearing wrappers, laughter bouncing off the walls.
Anandhi sat on the sofa edge, saree rustling. “Tell me.”
The lies flowed smoothly.
“I’m a relative—distant cousin. I ran away from home because they tried to force me into a marriage with some wealthy girl. I’m waiting for admission to a foreign university. Once it comes, I’ll leave.”
Her eyes softened. A faint blush crept up her neck as she looked at his face. “You’ve got his spark.”
Jeeva teased, voice low. “Don’t look at me like that. A woman gazing at a man like that means trouble.”
She laughed—soft, genuine. “You’ve got his face. How can’t I blush?”
Then she sobered. “But… don’t see me as sister-in-law. See me as a real sister. Issue fixed.”
Her smile held—trust pure, unguarded.
Then the important question came.
“Ever since your family threw us out, no one contacted us. How did you find the address? And… it’s been a week since Rahul picked up my call. I’m worried.”
Jeeva leaned forward, voice gentle.
“Everyone’s searching for me—my family knows they cut ties with Rahul, so naturally they won’t look here. That’s why I came. I have some cash I earned myself. If you need it, take it. Just give me a few months’ stay.”
Anandhi playfully swatted his hand. “More than money, a relative here is what feels earned. Stay as long as you need. Your brother didn’t stay here long—he sacrificed himself for the family. At least I’ll see your face and get some relaxation.”
The words hit like a punch.
Jeeva felt the pain twist deep. He badly wanted to reveal himself—right then, right there. Pull her into his arms, tell her everything, end the charade.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He wasn’t sure of anything. Suriya’s claim—“I’m taking care of her”—still gnawed at him. The chemical storm still raged inside. Doubt still whispered.
Night fell.
He played with Riya and Rohan—plastic cars zoomed across the scratched wooden floor, dolls danced. Laughter bounced off cracked walls.
Anandhi emerged from the kitchen in comfort nightwear—a loose kurta that clung tight across her chest. The 34D breast pressed hard against the fabric, nipples faintly visible through the thin cotton, curves singing with every movement as she readied his bed—sheets smoothed, pillow fluffed.
Kids barged back—play stretched until 11 PM. They slumped asleep. Anandhi carried them—one by one—Riya’s arms dangling, Rohan’s head lolling. The kurta stretched tight as she bent, outlining every curve.
Jeeva watched.
“What assets—lips, boobs, shape, ass—who wouldn’t crave her?”
He grinned darkly. “Her fault—born gorgeous.”
Then he sank onto the guest cot.
Sleep came fast, heavy, pulling him under like black water.
He was back in the flat — the same faded yellow walls, the same scratched wooden floor, the same slow ceiling fan stirring warm air. But the light felt wrong — too golden, too soft, like candle flame instead of tube light. The air smelled stronger — cumin, turmeric, jasmine from her hair oil, and underneath it all, the musky, intimate scent of skin and anticipation.
Jeeva stood in the shadowed corner near the kitchen doorway, unseen, frozen. He tried to move — limbs locked. Tried to shout — throat sealed. All he could do was watch.
The front door creaked open — barely a whisper.
Suriya slipped inside.
He moved like a thief — silent, deliberate, six-foot-two of gym-carved muscle filling the space. Tight black T-shirt already half-soaked with sweat, clinging to every ridge of his six-pack, shorts riding low on powerful hips. His fair skin gleamed under the low lamp light, veins standing out on thick forearms. His dark eyes were hungry, locked on the bedroom door.
Anandhi lay in bed.
She was asleep — or appeared to be — lying on her side under a thin sheet, comfort nightwear slightly rumpled, one arm dbangd over the pillow. Her fair skin glowed in the dim light, black hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink, 34D breasts rising and falling with slow, even breaths, nipples faintly outlined through the thin cotton.
Suriya paused at the doorway — watching her for a long moment. Then he moved.
He crossed the room silently. Kneeled beside the bed. His large hands reached out — fingers hooking the hem of her nighty, slowly lifting it up her stomach. The fabric dragged over her skin — exposing the soft curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her lower belly, then higher — until her heavy breasts spilled free. Dark nipples stiffened instantly in the cool air, peaking hard as if begging for touch.
Jeeva’s chest locked. He wanted to scream — to lung to warn her. Nothing came out. His body wouldn’t obey.
Suriya’s hands moved lower — tugging the pants down her thighs. Anandhi’s legs parted slightly in sleep (or feigned sleep), exposing the soft mound between them — panties already darkened at the center. He peeled them aside slowly — revealing glistening folds, swollen clit peeking out.
Jeeva’s cock jerked violently in his jeans — throbbing painfully, pre-cum soaking through the denim in a sudden rush. Shame and rage warred inside him.
Suriya stood — unzipping. His cock sprang free — thick, veined, heavy, head already slick. He stroked himself once — slow, deliberate — then climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs. His muscular back blocked Jeeva’s view almost completely — broad shoulders, rippling lats, powerful ass flexing as he positioned himself.
Jeeva strained — desperate to see — but Suriya’s nude body filled the frame, blocking everything except glimpses: Anandhi’s suddenly woke up
Made Suriya getting Shocked.
her voice began.
“I’m not sleeping im just acting… to see what you’re up to.”
Clear. Calm. Amused.
Suriya laughed — low, triumphant.
So you are in
Anandhi sat up slowly — pushing Suriya back with surprising strength. She stood — completely nude now — nightwear discarded on the floor. Her body was breathtaking — 34D breasts full and heavy, nipples dark and stiff, waist narrowing to wide hips, thick thighs framing the glistening wetness between them. She walked straight toward Jeeva in the corner.
He couldn’t move.
She stopped inches away — close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the jasmine and arousal on her.
“Rahul,” she said softly, eyes mocking. “You leaked just seeing us together? We’re just nude… we haven’t even started yet. How come? So weak?”
Jeeva tried to speak im not weak now im with superior power, i will do twice the effect of suriya he wanted to say this but — mouth wouldn’t open. His cock strained painfully against his jeans — head slick, throbbing so hard it hurt. A wet spot spread visibly on the denim.
Suriya appeared behind her — naked, cock still hard, smirking over her shoulder.
Something striked, she called him Rahul and Suriya didnt seemed shocked so is Anandhi
“You know me,” Jeeva finally forced out, voice cracking. “I’m Rahul…”
Anandhi laughed — soft, cruel. “Yes… we know.”
Suriya’s hand slid around her waist — possessive — cupping one heavy breast, thumb flicking the stiff nipple. Anandhi leaned back into him, eyes never leaving Jeeva’s.
“You loser,” Suriya said.
Anandhi looked down — mocking — at the obvious bulge in Jeeva’s jeans, the dark wet patch spreading.
“Rahul… you’re done.”
She reached out — fingers brushing the front of his jeans, right over the throbbing head.
In a rage, Rahul kicked on Suriya, and a fight appears and Anandhi pushed Jeeva aka Rahul on cot.
Jeeva jolted awake.
ITS A DREAM
Cot empty. Flat dark. Fan still spinning slow.
Sweat soaked his shirt. His cock stood painfully hard against his jeans — throbbing, leaking — and he realized with a sick lurch that he had already come. Thick, hot cum had soaked through the denim in several pulses — sticky against his thigh, the musky scent filling the small room.
He sat up, breathing ragged, hand instinctively gripping his still-hard shaft through the wet fabric — one squeeze sending a shudder through him.
“Bad dream,” he told himself.
He was confused why off late he had been so turned on, sexually, his mood is too on, he is always horny, always getting horny erections.. He wanted to speak about this to Madhavan, after the transformation he is always horny.. he know this dreams are after math of incidents he saw or he suspect and chemical reactions.
He knows Anandhi is not cheating and pure, thought its early he still needs to check more stay with her test her fidelity ..
But Suriya’s words still gnawed.
“I take care of her.”
Doubt crept deeper.
Was it just a dream… or a glimpse of something already happening?
Eighty-seven days burned.
Soon he would test her.
Soon he would find out how real that mocking smile had been.
He decided to watch them more carefully, following Suriya going to be his top priority now.
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