The Robinhood Act

Part 2: Trapping the MLA -
Wayanad Connection
After Rajan’s suspension and Suresh’s quiet exit, the Kozhikode Municipal office breathed a little easier, but I knew the rot went higher. The real puppet master was our influential MLA from Wayanad, Sri. Balakrishnan Nair — a 52-year-old veteran politician with a booming voice, thick white mundu, and a network that stretched from the misty hills of Wayanad to the coastal projects in Kozhikode. Though elected from a Wayanad constituency famous for its wildlife sanctuaries and tribal belts, he meddled heavily in Malabar region tenders, taking fat cuts from every major project: road widening, waste management, and the new Ayurveda tourism complex near the backwaters. People called him “Development Saar,” but behind closed doors, he was just another greedy shark funneling money between the hills and the sea.
I had to go bigger. Anjali had to become irresistible.
I upgraded my wardrobe. A collection of luxurious Kanjeevaram sarees, designer blouses that hugged my padded chest, and subtle but expensive gold jewellery. I let my hair grow longer and got professional threading and waxing at a discreet salon in Calicut. My body was smooth, toned from secret yoga sessions, and I practiced walking in high heels until my hips swayed naturally, like the classical dancers at the Kerala Kalamandalam.
The opportunity came during a regional development meeting in Kozhikode where Balakrishnan was the chief guest, fresh from his Wayanad hills. I volunteered to coordinate the cultural programs — wearing a cream-and-gold tissue silk saree that clung to every curve, with a deep back blouse. My makeup was flawless: smoky eyes, blood-red lips, a small bindi, and fresh mogra flowers in my hair.
He noticed me immediately. While the women performed Thiruvathira, his eyes followed my movements as I adjusted the stage lights. After the event, he cornered me near the makeshift green room.
“Anjali, isn’t it? You have brought beauty from the coast to this dull function,” he said, voice low and authoritative, smelling of sandalwood and whiskey. His hand brushed my bare waist as he “helped” adjust my pallu.
I blushed like a proper Kerala girl, lowering my eyes. “Thank you, Saar. It is an honour to serve… especially powerful leaders from Wayanad who look after all of us.”
That night he invited me to his private riverside bungalow in Beypore — a luxurious place with a view of the Chaliyar river meeting the sea, where he often stayed while handling coastal affairs. I went prepared: hidden camera in my handbag, voice recorder in my mangalsutra, and plenty of lube.
Balakrishnan was waiting in a traditional veshti and nothing else, his hairy chest and belly on full display. “Come, mole. No need for formalities here.” He poured me coconut toddy. I sipped slowly while he pulled me close on the teakwood sofa, bragging about how he diverted Wayanad eco-tourism funds into Kozhikode projects.
I used every feminine emotion — soft laughter, gentle touches, feigned admiration for his “vision for both hills and coast.” He bragged openly about the kickbacks while his rough hands roamed over my body. When he kissed me, it was demanding. I responded eagerly, moaning into him, grinding my hips against the growing hardness under his veshti.
He unwrapped my saree like a gift, the silk pooling at my feet. My red lace bra and panties were revealed. He chuckled darkly when he felt my erection. “A special flower from the coast, eh? Even better.”
I dropped to my knees, taking his thick cock into my mouth, sucking with devotion while he groaned about the port project cuts. He bent me over the balcony railing overlooking the moonlit backwaters. My saree bunched around my waist, he pushed into my ass in one rough thrust. The stretch burned beautifully. I cried out in pleasure as he pounded me, the sound of flesh slapping mixing with the waves.
“Tell me, Saar,” I gasped, pushing back to meet his thrusts, “how much did the contractor pay for the waste plant approval?”
He laughed breathlessly, spanking my ass. “Twenty lakhs… in black. Half to me, rest split with my Wayanad party men.” His pace quickened as he confessed more — names, account numbers, how he planned to rig contracts linking Wayanad plantations to Kozhikode infrastructure. I came first, spilling onto the tiles with a whimper. He followed, flooding me with hot cum.
We continued through the night — me riding him on the bed, then taken hard against the shower wall, soapy and desperate. Every thrust pulled out another secret.
By morning, I had everything on record. A week later, the evidence reached the Anti-Corruption Bureau and opposition leaders. The videos (my face carefully blurred) leaked and spread like wildfire across Kerala media. “Wayanad MLA Caught in Coastal Honey Trap” dominated headlines.
Balakrishnan resigned in disgrace. Inquiries linked his Wayanad assets to the scandals. Projects were reviewed. The people got a temporary breather from his grip.
I returned to my quiet life, but Anjali remains ready — silk, seduction, and justice, bridging coast and hills.