05-05-2026, 04:34 AM
Chapter 85: Summer's Idea
Scene 1
Vaintha's home. Selvam, Vanitha and Summer staring at the app’s admin console glowing blue-white against the marble counter.
Selvam leaned forward, scrolling through the dashboard with confident movements of his index finger. The numbers jumped with each flick... user engagement, daily active accounts, average session length... all climbing steadily since the last VC funding round.
“Look at these.” He pointed to a graph showing a vertical spike. “That’s the day after your last reel, Vanitha. Almost a million new downloads.”
“Not bad?” Selvam raised an eyebrow. “That’s record-breaking. The marketing team says they’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We have so many clients interested in the API licensing.”
“Do it,” Selvam said. “Personal connection beats a cold call every time.”
The business talk continued for another fifteen minutes... pricing models, integration timelines, potential conflicts with existing partners.
Selvam watched as Vanitha and Summer volleyed ideas back and forth, their professional chemistry as strong as their personal one. The two women had found something rare in each other... both creative and business-minded, both willing to push boundaries in all aspects of life.
“Speaking of personal connections,” Vanitha said, closing the laptop with a decisive click. “I’ve been trying to convince mama to buy that house, so he can live in California.”
Selvam shifted in his seat. “I did make an offer,” he said slowly. “On that Italian villa a few doors down.”
“The one with the infinity pool?” Summer’s eyebrows shot up. “That place is gorgeous.”
“Yes.” Selvam’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Cash offer, full asking price, no contingencies.”
“And?” Summer pressed.
“And Tara shut it down without a second’s hesitation.” The words came out flatter than he’d intended. “They’re not selling. Not now, not ever, apparently.”
Summer set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Tara is a bitch,” she said, no softening in her voice.
Vanitha’s mouth opened slightly, surprise crossing her face. “Summer!”
“What? She is.” Summer shrugged, unrepentant. “I know she is jealous of you, that’s the reason. She hates that you’re younger and hotter and married to a man with a real tech job instead of whatever her husband does.”
“I think Mohan‘s in finance,” Vanitha offered weakly.
“Whatever.” Summer rolled her eyes. “Point is, she’s jealous. Always has been. She’d do anything to hurt you.”
The room went quiet, the implications of Summer‘s words settling between them. Then, slowly, her expression changed... eyes going sharp, mouth curving into a slow smile.
Summer sat up straighter, turning to face Selvam directly.
“I have an idea,” she said. “She’s a jealous bitch. She would want something I have.” She held the look for a beat, letting the implication hang. “Selvam, you need to take one for the team if you want that house for Vanitha.”
Selvam stared at her, genuinely lost. “What?”
“I think I get it.” Vanitha was watching Summer’s face, reading something in her expression that Selvam couldn’t follow. Her own mouth curved, a mirror of Summer’s smile. “You want to use him as bait.”
“Exactly.” Summer reached for her phone, already tapping through her contacts. “Tara’s been thirst-posting about ‘hot dads’ since before her baby was born. And now she’s stuck in that mansion with a screaming infant and a husband who probably falls asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.”
Selvam looked between them, comprehension slowly dawning. “You want me to...”
“Not sleep with her, but that’s your call, Boss man!” Summer clarified. “Just let her think she could.” She slid off the stool, grabbing her bag from the counter. “Let her see what she‘s missing out on.”
“This sounds like a terrible plan,” Selvam said, but the women were already in motion... Summer heading for the door, Vanitha reaching for her phone.
“It’s a perfect plan,” Summer called over her shoulder. “Jealousy makes people stupid. And you, Selvam, are very not-stupid. Which is why you’re going to let me handle this.”
She paused at the doorway, phone in hand. “I’ve got a visit to make.”
The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Selvam and Vanitha alone in the suddenly quiet kitchen. Selvam turned to Vanitha, confusion still clear on his face.
“What exactly is she planning to do?”
Vanitha smiled, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. “Knowing Summer? Whatever works.”
Selvam shook his head, not quite able to share their confidence. “This is going to end badly.”
“It‘s going to end with us in that villa,” Vanitha replied, her voice certain. “Just wait and see.”
Scene 2
Summer pulled up to Tara Mohan’s villa in her white BMW, parking in the wide stone driveway. The Italian-style house gleamed in the afternoon sun, terracotta roof tiles catching the light. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror... lipstick perfect, blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The photo she planned to show Tara was already loaded on her phone. She grabbed her bag and headed for the front door.
The carved wooden door swung open before she could ring the bell. Tara stood there in a pale pink silk wrap robe, one breast already half-exposed, the golden skin of her chest flushed with warmth. her baby son Aryan balanced on her hip, his tiny hand reaching for her uncovered breast, face turned toward the nipple.
“Oh!” Tara‘s eyes widened with surprise. “Summer. Hi.”
“Sorry to drop by unannounced.” Summer smiled, keeping her eyes on Tara’s face despite the obvious glimpse of the other woman’s breast. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I needed your opinion on something.”
Tara adjusted her hold on Aryan, the movement making her robe slip further. “No, it’s fine. Come in.” She stepped back, pulling the door wider. “We were just finishing up a feed. Weren’t we, baby?”
Aryan made a small sound of protest, his head turning to follow the retreating nipple. Tara laughed, the sound light and practiced. “Always so hungry. Men.”
Summer followed her through the marble entryway, past the open kitchen with its Italian marble counters, up the curved staircase to the second floor. The nursery door stood open, pale afternoon light spilling through arched windows onto the Italian marble floor.
“Have a seat,” Tara gestured to a low ottoman across from the deep nursing chair. “Just let me get this little monster settled.”
She sank into the chair, Aryan already trying to suck her nipples. With practiced movements, she adjusted her robe, baring her right breast completely. The nipple was dark, thick, already beading milk even before Aryan latched on. Once his mouth closed around the areola, Tara’s expression shifted... a momentary flash of something between pleasure and pain crossing her features before settling into practiced serenity.
“There we go,” she murmured, stroking Aryan‘s downy head. “That’s my good boy.”
Summer settled on the ottoman, pulling out her phone. “So, the reason I came by.” She tapped the screen a few times, scrolling through her photos. “I shot this new lingerie collection last week, and I wanted your opinion before I post it.”
Tara leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested. “Of course. You know I love your work.”
Summer turned the phone toward her, showing the first image... a studio shot of Summer in a pale pink lace bra, the lighting soft and flattering. “The brand is trying to go more high-end. Less Victoria’s Secret, more Agent Provocateur.”
“Gorgeous,” Tara said, eyes moving over the image. “The color really makes your skin pop.”
Summer swiped to the next photo... a black set with delicate gold accents, shot against a white backdrop. “This one’s my favorite. The cut makes my ass look amazing.”
“It does,” Tara agreed, her free hand moving to her own leaking breast without seeming to notice. Her fingers brushed the underside, gathering a drop of milk that had escaped Aryan’s mouth. “The fit is perfect on you.”
They continued through the set... a red balconette, a white bodysuit with lace inserts, a teal bralette with matching high-waisted briefs. With each image, Tara leaned closer, her comments growing more specific, more appreciative. Her robe had fallen completely open now, both breasts exposed, the left one dripping a steady line of milk down the curve of her skin.
Then Summer’s thumb paused on the screen, and she let out a small, unconvincing “oh” of surprise.
On the phone: a close-up of Summer’s face, lips parted, jaw tilted up. Framing her on both sides was a thick, dark, heavily veined dark cock... foreskin pulled back to expose a wide, glistening reddish-brown cock head. The shaft was so dark against Summer’s fair Nordic skin that the contrast was impossible to miss.
Tara’s eyes locked onto the image. Aryan kept nursing, oblivious to the sudden tension in his mother’s body. Tara’s free hand moved without her seeming to notice it, fingers brushing the underside of her leaking breast again, this time lingering on the sensitive skin.
“Sorry,” Summer said quickly, making to swipe past it. “That’s not supposed to be in there.”
“Wait.” Tara’s voice came out higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “That’s... is that from your personal collection?”
Summer bit her lower lip, playing reluctant. “Yeah. Private shoot.”
“For who?” Tara asked, her eyes still fixed on the screen.
“My boyfriend.” Summer shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “Just a fun thing we do sometimes.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “OMG, Summer, you didn’t tell me you have a black boyfriend. I need to see everything.”
Summer hesitated, then slowly scrolled to the next image... another close-up, this one showing the full length of the shaft pressed against Summer’s cheek, her tongue just visible at the base.
“Oh my god,” Tara whispered, her voice dropping half an octave. “He’s huge.”
Another swipe, another image... Summer on her knees, the cock in profile, her lips stretched around the head, her eyes looking directly at the camera.
“Fuck,” Tara breathed, the word barely audible. Aryan shifted at her breast, his sucking slowing as if he sensed the change in his mother‘s attention.
One more swipe, and the full picture was revealed... Summer on her back, legs spread, the same dark cock buried inside her, her face a study in ecstasy.
Tara’s breath caught. “Is that... “ she started, then stopped. “Is that an Indian cock? The foreskin?” she asked, her voice dropping another half register.
Summer paused, as if considering whether to answer. “Yeah,” she said finally. “He’s Indian.”
Tara’s free hand had stilled on her breast, her fingers now pressing into the soft flesh as if holding herself in place. “Do I know him?” she asked, the question clearly costing her something.
Summer looked down at her phone, then back up at Tara. “Maybe.”
“Tell me,” Tara pressed, shifting Aryan to her other breast with practiced movements. The first nipple, now free, was fully exposed, a thin jet of milk dripping down her wrist as her body responded to her arousal. “Please, Summer. I need to know.”
Summer exhaled slowly, like she was giving something up. “It’s my boss,” she said. “My new boss. Selvam.”
The name landed between them with the force of a physical blow. Tara’s jaw went slack, her eyes widening. She knew exactly who Selvam was... knew he was Vanitha’s father-in-law, knew he was a forty-eight-year-old man with a body that defied his age. And now she knew he had been buried inside a twenty-four-year-old white lingerie model.
Her nipple stiffened visibly, the areola puckering as her body reacted before her face did. A thick spurt of milk sprayed out, catching Aryan’s cheek as he continued to nurse, oblivious to the shock rippling through his mother’s body.
“Selvam?” Tara repeated, her voice barely audible. “Vanitha’s Selvam?”
Summer nodded, tucking her phone back into her bag with deliberate casualness. “Yeah. It’s new. Just a few weeks.” She shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have told you. It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s...” Tara’s eyes had gone unfocused, fixed on the middle distance. Her tongue pressed against her lower lip, the image of that dark cock burning behind her eyes. “It’s fine. I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks.” Summer stood, smoothing her dress down over her hips. “I should go. Let you finish with Aryan.”
Tara nodded mechanically, not really hearing her. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”
Summer paused at the doorway, looking back at the other woman. Tara still sat in the nursing chair, Aryan feeding contentedly at her breast, her eyes fixed on nothing, her expression dazed. The wet patch on her robe had spread, her nipple still visibly hard despite the cool air of the nursery.
“See you around, Tara,” Summer said softly. “Thanks for the feedback.”
But Tara was already gone, lost in the image that now lived behind her eyes... the thick, dark shaft, the plum-colored head, the absolute certainty that Vanitha’s father-in-law was fucking a woman half his age.
And that, Summer thought as she closed the door quietly behind her, was exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.
Scene 1
Vaintha's home. Selvam, Vanitha and Summer staring at the app’s admin console glowing blue-white against the marble counter.
Selvam leaned forward, scrolling through the dashboard with confident movements of his index finger. The numbers jumped with each flick... user engagement, daily active accounts, average session length... all climbing steadily since the last VC funding round.
“Look at these.” He pointed to a graph showing a vertical spike. “That’s the day after your last reel, Vanitha. Almost a million new downloads.”
“Not bad?” Selvam raised an eyebrow. “That’s record-breaking. The marketing team says they’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We have so many clients interested in the API licensing.”
“Do it,” Selvam said. “Personal connection beats a cold call every time.”
The business talk continued for another fifteen minutes... pricing models, integration timelines, potential conflicts with existing partners.
Selvam watched as Vanitha and Summer volleyed ideas back and forth, their professional chemistry as strong as their personal one. The two women had found something rare in each other... both creative and business-minded, both willing to push boundaries in all aspects of life.
“Speaking of personal connections,” Vanitha said, closing the laptop with a decisive click. “I’ve been trying to convince mama to buy that house, so he can live in California.”
Selvam shifted in his seat. “I did make an offer,” he said slowly. “On that Italian villa a few doors down.”
“The one with the infinity pool?” Summer’s eyebrows shot up. “That place is gorgeous.”
“Yes.” Selvam’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Cash offer, full asking price, no contingencies.”
“And?” Summer pressed.
“And Tara shut it down without a second’s hesitation.” The words came out flatter than he’d intended. “They’re not selling. Not now, not ever, apparently.”
Summer set her mug down with a decisive clink. “Tara is a bitch,” she said, no softening in her voice.
Vanitha’s mouth opened slightly, surprise crossing her face. “Summer!”
“What? She is.” Summer shrugged, unrepentant. “I know she is jealous of you, that’s the reason. She hates that you’re younger and hotter and married to a man with a real tech job instead of whatever her husband does.”
“I think Mohan‘s in finance,” Vanitha offered weakly.
“Whatever.” Summer rolled her eyes. “Point is, she’s jealous. Always has been. She’d do anything to hurt you.”
The room went quiet, the implications of Summer‘s words settling between them. Then, slowly, her expression changed... eyes going sharp, mouth curving into a slow smile.
Summer sat up straighter, turning to face Selvam directly.
“I have an idea,” she said. “She’s a jealous bitch. She would want something I have.” She held the look for a beat, letting the implication hang. “Selvam, you need to take one for the team if you want that house for Vanitha.”
Selvam stared at her, genuinely lost. “What?”
“I think I get it.” Vanitha was watching Summer’s face, reading something in her expression that Selvam couldn’t follow. Her own mouth curved, a mirror of Summer’s smile. “You want to use him as bait.”
“Exactly.” Summer reached for her phone, already tapping through her contacts. “Tara’s been thirst-posting about ‘hot dads’ since before her baby was born. And now she’s stuck in that mansion with a screaming infant and a husband who probably falls asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.”
Selvam looked between them, comprehension slowly dawning. “You want me to...”
“Not sleep with her, but that’s your call, Boss man!” Summer clarified. “Just let her think she could.” She slid off the stool, grabbing her bag from the counter. “Let her see what she‘s missing out on.”
“This sounds like a terrible plan,” Selvam said, but the women were already in motion... Summer heading for the door, Vanitha reaching for her phone.
“It’s a perfect plan,” Summer called over her shoulder. “Jealousy makes people stupid. And you, Selvam, are very not-stupid. Which is why you’re going to let me handle this.”
She paused at the doorway, phone in hand. “I’ve got a visit to make.”
The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Selvam and Vanitha alone in the suddenly quiet kitchen. Selvam turned to Vanitha, confusion still clear on his face.
“What exactly is she planning to do?”
Vanitha smiled, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. “Knowing Summer? Whatever works.”
Selvam shook his head, not quite able to share their confidence. “This is going to end badly.”
“It‘s going to end with us in that villa,” Vanitha replied, her voice certain. “Just wait and see.”
Scene 2
Summer pulled up to Tara Mohan’s villa in her white BMW, parking in the wide stone driveway. The Italian-style house gleamed in the afternoon sun, terracotta roof tiles catching the light. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror... lipstick perfect, blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The photo she planned to show Tara was already loaded on her phone. She grabbed her bag and headed for the front door.
The carved wooden door swung open before she could ring the bell. Tara stood there in a pale pink silk wrap robe, one breast already half-exposed, the golden skin of her chest flushed with warmth. her baby son Aryan balanced on her hip, his tiny hand reaching for her uncovered breast, face turned toward the nipple.
“Oh!” Tara‘s eyes widened with surprise. “Summer. Hi.”
“Sorry to drop by unannounced.” Summer smiled, keeping her eyes on Tara’s face despite the obvious glimpse of the other woman’s breast. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I needed your opinion on something.”
Tara adjusted her hold on Aryan, the movement making her robe slip further. “No, it’s fine. Come in.” She stepped back, pulling the door wider. “We were just finishing up a feed. Weren’t we, baby?”
Aryan made a small sound of protest, his head turning to follow the retreating nipple. Tara laughed, the sound light and practiced. “Always so hungry. Men.”
Summer followed her through the marble entryway, past the open kitchen with its Italian marble counters, up the curved staircase to the second floor. The nursery door stood open, pale afternoon light spilling through arched windows onto the Italian marble floor.
“Have a seat,” Tara gestured to a low ottoman across from the deep nursing chair. “Just let me get this little monster settled.”
She sank into the chair, Aryan already trying to suck her nipples. With practiced movements, she adjusted her robe, baring her right breast completely. The nipple was dark, thick, already beading milk even before Aryan latched on. Once his mouth closed around the areola, Tara’s expression shifted... a momentary flash of something between pleasure and pain crossing her features before settling into practiced serenity.
“There we go,” she murmured, stroking Aryan‘s downy head. “That’s my good boy.”
Summer settled on the ottoman, pulling out her phone. “So, the reason I came by.” She tapped the screen a few times, scrolling through her photos. “I shot this new lingerie collection last week, and I wanted your opinion before I post it.”
Tara leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested. “Of course. You know I love your work.”
Summer turned the phone toward her, showing the first image... a studio shot of Summer in a pale pink lace bra, the lighting soft and flattering. “The brand is trying to go more high-end. Less Victoria’s Secret, more Agent Provocateur.”
“Gorgeous,” Tara said, eyes moving over the image. “The color really makes your skin pop.”
Summer swiped to the next photo... a black set with delicate gold accents, shot against a white backdrop. “This one’s my favorite. The cut makes my ass look amazing.”
“It does,” Tara agreed, her free hand moving to her own leaking breast without seeming to notice. Her fingers brushed the underside, gathering a drop of milk that had escaped Aryan’s mouth. “The fit is perfect on you.”
They continued through the set... a red balconette, a white bodysuit with lace inserts, a teal bralette with matching high-waisted briefs. With each image, Tara leaned closer, her comments growing more specific, more appreciative. Her robe had fallen completely open now, both breasts exposed, the left one dripping a steady line of milk down the curve of her skin.
Then Summer’s thumb paused on the screen, and she let out a small, unconvincing “oh” of surprise.
On the phone: a close-up of Summer’s face, lips parted, jaw tilted up. Framing her on both sides was a thick, dark, heavily veined dark cock... foreskin pulled back to expose a wide, glistening reddish-brown cock head. The shaft was so dark against Summer’s fair Nordic skin that the contrast was impossible to miss.
Tara’s eyes locked onto the image. Aryan kept nursing, oblivious to the sudden tension in his mother’s body. Tara’s free hand moved without her seeming to notice it, fingers brushing the underside of her leaking breast again, this time lingering on the sensitive skin.
“Sorry,” Summer said quickly, making to swipe past it. “That’s not supposed to be in there.”
“Wait.” Tara’s voice came out higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “That’s... is that from your personal collection?”
Summer bit her lower lip, playing reluctant. “Yeah. Private shoot.”
“For who?” Tara asked, her eyes still fixed on the screen.
“My boyfriend.” Summer shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “Just a fun thing we do sometimes.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “OMG, Summer, you didn’t tell me you have a black boyfriend. I need to see everything.”
Summer hesitated, then slowly scrolled to the next image... another close-up, this one showing the full length of the shaft pressed against Summer’s cheek, her tongue just visible at the base.
“Oh my god,” Tara whispered, her voice dropping half an octave. “He’s huge.”
Another swipe, another image... Summer on her knees, the cock in profile, her lips stretched around the head, her eyes looking directly at the camera.
“Fuck,” Tara breathed, the word barely audible. Aryan shifted at her breast, his sucking slowing as if he sensed the change in his mother‘s attention.
One more swipe, and the full picture was revealed... Summer on her back, legs spread, the same dark cock buried inside her, her face a study in ecstasy.
Tara’s breath caught. “Is that... “ she started, then stopped. “Is that an Indian cock? The foreskin?” she asked, her voice dropping another half register.
Summer paused, as if considering whether to answer. “Yeah,” she said finally. “He’s Indian.”
Tara’s free hand had stilled on her breast, her fingers now pressing into the soft flesh as if holding herself in place. “Do I know him?” she asked, the question clearly costing her something.
Summer looked down at her phone, then back up at Tara. “Maybe.”
“Tell me,” Tara pressed, shifting Aryan to her other breast with practiced movements. The first nipple, now free, was fully exposed, a thin jet of milk dripping down her wrist as her body responded to her arousal. “Please, Summer. I need to know.”
Summer exhaled slowly, like she was giving something up. “It’s my boss,” she said. “My new boss. Selvam.”
The name landed between them with the force of a physical blow. Tara’s jaw went slack, her eyes widening. She knew exactly who Selvam was... knew he was Vanitha’s father-in-law, knew he was a forty-eight-year-old man with a body that defied his age. And now she knew he had been buried inside a twenty-four-year-old white lingerie model.
Her nipple stiffened visibly, the areola puckering as her body reacted before her face did. A thick spurt of milk sprayed out, catching Aryan’s cheek as he continued to nurse, oblivious to the shock rippling through his mother’s body.
“Selvam?” Tara repeated, her voice barely audible. “Vanitha’s Selvam?”
Summer nodded, tucking her phone back into her bag with deliberate casualness. “Yeah. It’s new. Just a few weeks.” She shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have told you. It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s...” Tara’s eyes had gone unfocused, fixed on the middle distance. Her tongue pressed against her lower lip, the image of that dark cock burning behind her eyes. “It’s fine. I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks.” Summer stood, smoothing her dress down over her hips. “I should go. Let you finish with Aryan.”
Tara nodded mechanically, not really hearing her. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”
Summer paused at the doorway, looking back at the other woman. Tara still sat in the nursing chair, Aryan feeding contentedly at her breast, her eyes fixed on nothing, her expression dazed. The wet patch on her robe had spread, her nipple still visibly hard despite the cool air of the nursery.
“See you around, Tara,” Summer said softly. “Thanks for the feedback.”
But Tara was already gone, lost in the image that now lived behind her eyes... the thick, dark shaft, the plum-colored head, the absolute certainty that Vanitha’s father-in-law was fucking a woman half his age.
And that, Summer thought as she closed the door quietly behind her, was exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.
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