Adultery Nalini and The Unseen Virus

[Dhanapal]

Whatever one thing is sure Nalini's life will not be same hereafter, she will definitely have her holes filling up by more than one man. The hole of nalini that belongs to her husband only will now be available to other men.

[tweeny_fory]

I wanted to add a survey to this thread, how do we do this after creating a thread?

[Hotyyhard]

wow super going

[Projectmp]

Amazing

[Dominetrix]

The story progression is superb.. Keep updating..

[dilema]

waw go onnnn

[tweeny_fory]

Whatever one thing is sure Nalini's life will not be same hereafter, she will definitely have her holes filling up by more than one man. The hole of nalini that belongs to her husband only will now be available to other men.

waw go onnnn

thanks bro. yes her life is oging to turn upside down

[tweeny_fory]

wow super going

Amazing

thanks for the comments

[tweeny_fory]

The story progression is superb.. Keep updating..

thank you for your valuable comments bro

[iCuby]

Nice update....
Very great update....
But why didn't you replying?

[Ajay Kailash]

Excellent start

[iCuby]

I am astonished!!!!! Really!!!!

[tweeny_fory]

Nice update....
Very great update....
But why didn't you replying?

hi bro, couldn't understand. Are you saying why i am not replying?

[tweeny_fory]

Excellent start

I am astonished!!!!! Really!!!!

thanks for your comments frens.. i am writing the update. will send the update today

[tweeny_fory]

Part 7 - Nalini's Armpit Shave

"Ma'am," Anbu's voice was low and insistent, a hushed whisper that seemed to vibrate only against her skin. His breath was warm, almost feverish, as it ghosted across the delicate curve of her ear. "For a more accurate reading, we need to ensure that the area is as clean as possible." He paused, allowing the implication to hang heavy in the air.

His eyes, dark and intense, met hers. It wasn't the detached, professional gaze of a healthcare worker; there was a flicker of something deeper, something primal, that made her stomach twist into a knot of unease. It wasn't just professionalism anymore; there was a hint of desire, a disturbing fascination that made her skin crawl. The room, previously sterile and impersonal, suddenly felt charged with an unspoken tension.

Nalini felt a flush of embarrassment bloom across her cheeks, spreading down her neck and threatening to engulf her entirely. She felt exposed, vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze. In the chaos of the pandemic, amidst the fear and the relentless demands of survival, personal grooming had been relegated to the bottom of her list of priorities. Now, it was being held against her, weaponized in a way she couldn't have imagined.

Her armpit was not shaved, the dark hairs a stark contrast to the pale, sensitive skin beneath. The realization felt like a public humiliation. "I...I haven't had a chance to..." she trailed off, her voice a mere whisper, choked by shame and a growing sense of dread. The words felt inadequate, a pitiful excuse for a perceived transgression.

Anbu nodded slowly, his expression unreadable behind the sterile white mask that concealed the lower half of his face. His eyes, however, remained fixed on her, betraying a hint of something she couldn't quite decipher. "It's quite all right, ma'am," he said soothingly, his voice a carefully constructed mask of normalcy. "We can help you with that." He stepped back, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and for a fleeting moment, Nalini dared to hope that she had misinterpreted his intentions, that her anxiety had conjured a monster where none existed.

But then Teja spoke up, shattering the illusion. His eyes, she noticed with sickening clarity, were still blatantly glued to her chest, lingering on the exposed skin where the fabric of her dupatta had inadvertently slipped. "Yes, it's part of our protocol," he said, his voice a little too smooth, a little too practiced for genuine reassurance. "We can't proceed without a clean area for the thermometer." The clinical language felt like a thinly veiled excuse, a justification for a violation that was rapidly approaching.

Nalini felt the room close in around her, the air growing thick and suffocating. The dupatta slipped a little more, exposing more of her skin, offering a further invitation to their unwelcome gaze. She could feel the dampness of her armpit, the stickiness of her own sweat, amplified by her mounting anxiety. It felt as though every imperfection was magnified, every vulnerability laid bare. She didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe too deeply, for fear of attracting more attention, of provoking a reaction she couldn't control. The men's eyes were on her, their desire as palpable as the humid air in the confined room, and she felt trapped, a cornered animal with nowhere to run. The sterile environment had transformed into a cage, and she was the unwilling exhibit.

Anbu stepped closer, the lacquered surface of his porcelain mask gleaming in the dim light of the room. His nose, so close it was almost touching her armpit, sent a jolt of awareness through Nalini. She could feel his breath, a humid caress against her skin, raising goosebumps despite the stifling heat. The fabric of his mask fluttered slightly with each exhale, a silent rhythm that amplified the tension in the air. She focused on the rigid line of his shoulders, the almost painful tightness of his jaw – a stark contrast to the detached professionalism he usually projected. He took a deep, deliberate breath, inhaling her scent, and despite herself, she felt a shiver trace its way down her spine. It was a primal response, unexpected and unwelcome.


"Ma'am," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. Was it clinical detachment? Deeper hunger? Fear? "For a more precise reading, it's essential that the area is hairless." His eyes, visible through the narrow slits of the mask, never wavered from hers, holding her captive in their unsettling gaze. There was something undeniably predatory in their depths, a stark contrast to the sterile environment of her home. Nalini felt a confusing cocktail of fear, revulsion, and, to her utter horror, a strange, undeniable thrill. The thought of his touch, the violation of this intensely personal space, ignited a forbidden curiosity.

As Nalini sat in her modest South Indian home, the scent of jasmine and turmeric usually comforting, now felt suffocating. She had always been self-conscious about her body hair, a mark considered unfeminine, especially the thick, almost defiant bushiness of her armpits. Growing up, her grandmother had urged her to remove it, whispering about societal expectations and the importance of attracting a good husband. Nalini had always resisted, clinging to it as a small act of rebellion, a quiet assertion of her own identity. She had never imagined anyone, least of all a man like Anbu, seeing or touching them, yet here she was, her privacy about to be irrevocably breached. She looked down at her arm, obscured by the dark, tangled hair, a sudden wave of shame washing over her. She had never thought they would cause a problem like this, a compromise of her dignity.

The overhead fan whirred, its rhythmic drone a constant, almost maddening presence in the small room. It barely stirred the thick, humid air, doing little to alleviate the oppressive heat or the growing sense of dread that coiled in her stomach. The cloying sweetness of the jasmine seemed to mock her growing unease, a stark reminder of the normalcy she was about to lose. The only sounds were the fan, the pounding of her heart, and the slow, measured breaths of the masked man who held her fate in the balance.

[tweeny_fory]

Part 7 continued...


Anbu's eyes remained glued to her armpit, his gaze intense and focused. Nalini felt a bead of sweat trickle down her side, tracing a path from her ribs to the hollow beneath her arm, pooling in the crevice between her arm and her torso. Her heart thudded in her chest, the sound seeming to amplify in the suffocating silence of the room. She could feel his breath, hot and moist, against her skin, stirring the fine hairs on her forearm, and she wondered if he could smell the faint musk of her fear mingling with the scent she was now acutely aware of: her armpit. It felt suddenly and intensely hers, a part of her she had taken for granted, now under intense scrutiny.

Anbu, too, was focused on the task, or so he told himself. His mind was supposed to be centered on the procedure, the meticulous adherence to protocol. He had performed countless health check-ups before, a necessary evil in the face of the rampant pandemic. But there was something about Nalini's fragile demeanor, the wavering in her eyes when he’d first entered, that made him feel more…attentive. More gentle. It was a lie, of course. He was anything but gentle, his gaze a transgression. Teja, on the other hand, seemed more reserved, his expression a carefully constructed mask of professionalism. However, as he watched Anbu's performative concern, he couldn't help but notice the way Nalini's eyelids fluttered closed, her chest rising and falling with each shallow, rapid breath. He saw the subtle tremor in her hand, the way she unconsciously tightened her grip on the edge of the sofa.
The scent rising from her armpit was faint but undeniably present, a complex fragrance that transcended mere perspiration. It was a blend of fear, anxiety, and something else, something undeniably feminine, earthy and intimate. It was a scent that spoke of vulnerability and defiance in equal measure. He took another, deeper breath, almost imperceptible, his nose brushing against the soft, dark hairs that framed the delicate curve of her underarm. Nalini tensed, her embarrassment palpable, a tangible wave washing over the room.
"Ma'am," Anbu said, his voice a low rumble, a distorted mimicry of concern, "for the most accurate results, it would be best if we could shave this area." He paused, the implication of his words hanging heavy in the air. His hand, encased in a sterile latex glove, reached out, hovering over her exposed skin. She flinched, a involuntary reaction, as his gloved fingers brushed against her flesh. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock, confusion, and dawning horror.
Anbu stepped closer, invading her personal space, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over her. “Unkempt underarm hair can harbor bacteria, Madam. It can be a breeding ground for infection, a public health hazard.” The words were recited, regurgitated from a textbook, devoid of genuine concern.
But they didn’t move. Anbu’s voice turned persuasive, almost gentle, a silken thread woven with insidious intent. “Madam, we understand your reluctance. It’s a sensitive issue, we know. But we are only trying to ensure the health and safety of the community. We can take care of it for you, right here, right now. It will only take a few minutes.” The promise felt more like a threat.
I wanted to scream, to call the security officer, to slam the door in their faces and lock it tight. But something held me back, a paralysis born of fear and disbelief. Was it fear of confrontation? Embarrassment that this was even happening? Or a strange, unsettling curiosity, a horrifying fascination with the unfolding scenario? The way Teja was looking at me, his eyes betraying a flicker of something unreadable, only added to my unease.
The suggestion hung in the air, thick and heavy with implication, a suffocating fog of violation. Nalini felt her heart drop to her stomach, a lead weight dragging her down. This was not a part of the health check she had signed up for, the one she had reluctantly agreed to in a moment of panic and societal pressure. But she knew, with a chilling certainty, that she had no real choice, not with these two men in her house, their presence a physical embodiment of the fear of the pandemic looming over her. She nodded, the movement barely perceptible, her voice a small, shaky whisper that barely escaped her lips.
Teja's eyes lit up at her response, a predatory gleam that he quickly masked, and he moved with an eagerness that was undeniably unnerving. He bent down to open his oversized medical bag, the leather creaking in protest as he rummaged through its contents, finally pulling out a small, innocuous-looking plastic kit. Nalini's eyes widened as she took in the contents: hair softening gel in a sterile packet, a disposable razor, a tube of generic shaving cream, a small bottle of aftershave lotion, and a tiny, foldable mirror that looked like it belonged in a child's dollhouse. It was surreal, watching him lay them out meticulously on the polished surface of the coffee table, as if he were preparing for a leisurely shave himself, a grotesque parody of domesticity.
Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic drumbeat resonating in her ears, as she involuntarily lay back on the sofa, the worn cushions molding to her trembling form. Anbu positioned himself beside her, his body blocking her escape route, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent sentinel guarding her prison. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the layers of his protective PPE, a disconcerting warmth that felt invasive and predatory. With a disturbingly gentle touch, he helped her adjust her arm so that her armpit was more fully exposed, his gloved hands feeling both firm and surprisingly delicate against her skin.
Teja took a seat at the head of the sofa, his presence adding to the sense of claustrophobia, his eyes never leaving her face. He took her free hand in his, his grip firm but not unkind, as if offering comfort or perhaps just preventing her from pulling away. His touch was cool and clammy, a stark and unpleasant contrast to the stifling warmth that emanated from Anbu's hand on her other wrist. Nalini felt a strange and unsettling mix of comfort and fear as he began to rub her wrist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against her pulse point. It was a gesture that spoke of a shared intimacy, an illusion of control, a silent and false promise of support in this most vulnerable of moments.
Anbu remained impassive beside her, his unwavering gaze a constant pressure, as Teja popped open the tube of gel with a sharp, almost violent click, the unfamiliar scent of it filling the air, momentarily overpowering the underlying smell of disinfectant and fear. It was a surprisingly mild scent, reminiscent of eucalyptus and aloe vera, the kind that you'd expect to find in a luxurious spa rather than in a cramped, sweaty room in the middle of a global pandemic.
The scent of mint filled the air as he snapped open the tube of gel, the sharp sound jolting in the unnatural quiet of the room, a sharp punctuation mark in the unfolding drama. He squeezed out a generous dollop into his palm and warmed it between his hands before gently applying it to her armpit, his touch surprisingly tender. The coolness of the gel was a stark and unwelcome contrast to the anxious heat of her embarrassment, the stickiness of the gel making her skin feel alien, unfamiliar, beneath her own touch.
Teja leaned closer, his movements deliberate and controlled, his hands pressing lightly against the thin fabric of her cotton nightie as he began to soften the coarse hairs. His eyes never left hers, a silent and unconvincing apology lurking in their depths. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers deftly working through the thick growth, preparing her for the next stage of the ordeal. Nalini felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were observing the scene from a distance, the sensation of his hands on her skin both foreign and oddly comforting, a confusing and unsettling juxtaposition.
The gel felt cool and soothing against the sticky heat of her armpit, providing a temporary respite from the rising tide of panic. She watched, mesmerized and horrified, in the tiny mirror as he spread it, his hands moving in slow, deliberate circles, each movement a violation. The dark hairs grew more visible against her skin, standing out against the translucent film of the gel like a stark warning sign of what was to come. Teja's eyes never left hers, the unwavering intensity in his gaze unnerving, bordering on predatory. Nalini squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the weight of his gaze, a wave of humiliation washing over her, threatening to drown her in shame.
He took a deep breath, his presence looming over her, and she felt his hand tighten around the disposable razor, the plastic handle slick against his gloved palm. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he snapped it open, the metal blade glinting ominously in the dim light filtering through the dusty curtains. Nalini's breath hitched in her throat, a silent sob trapped within her lungs, her eyes fixed on the sharp, unforgiving blade. He leaned in closer, invading her personal space even further, his face mere inches from her bare skin. "Just a little discomfort, ma'am," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper, his breath hot against her ear. "It'll be over soon." But she knew, with a chilling certainty, that the discomfort would last far longer than a few minutes. The violation would linger, an indelible mark on her soul.
The shaving cream was cold and strangely comforting as he spread it generously over her armpit, the foam billowing like a pristine white cloud, obscuring the dark reality beneath. She watched, transfixed and repulsed, in the mirror as the dark hairs disappeared beneath the thick, white lather, erased from view. Teja's hands were steady and assured as he worked, his movements precise and calculated, betraying a level of expertise that was deeply unsettling. Each stroke of his hand sent a shiver down her spine, the coldness of the cream creating an eerie, chilling sensation against her hot, sticky skin, a physical manifestation of the violation she was enduring.
Nalini felt her hands clench into tight fists, the worn fabric of her dupatta crumpling and twisting in her grip, a silent testament to her inner turmoil. She could see the reflection of her own terror in her wide, dilated pupils, the fear and anticipation mixing in a toxic cocktail that made her head swim and her stomach churn. Anbu watched from beside her, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark with something she didn't dare name, a predatory hunger lurking beneath the surface. His hand remained firmly on her wrist, the gentle circling of his thumb a silent, insidious reassurance, a constant reminder of her captivity.
Teja tested the sharpness of the blade against the paper wrapper, the sound of the steel gliding against the coated surface sending a fresh wave of shivers down her spine. He held it up, the light glinting off the exposed edge, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she could see her own distorted and terrified reflection in its polished surface, a chilling premonition of the violation to come, trapped and helpless within the confines of her own home.

[Projectmp]

Superb

[iCuby]

hi bro, couldn't understand. Are you saying why i am not replying?

We talked about a story in google chat,,, why aren't you replying there?

[longindian_axe]

good going.. waiting for more

[tweeny_fory]

Anbu leaned in closer, his face only a few inches from her arm. She could see the stubble on his cheek, the sweat beading at his hairline, the fabric of his mask sticking to his skin, damp and clinging. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, thick and heavy as a summer storm. His eyes, dark and intense, searched hers, looking for any sign of protest, any reason to stop. A flicker of doubt, a tightening of her lips, anything. But all she could do was stare back, her breath shallow and rapid, a hummingbird trapped in her chest, her heart hammering in her chest, a frantic drum against her ribs. She felt paralyzed, caught in the web of his gaze, unable to break free.

With a gentle touch, that belied the intensity in his eyes, he took the razor to her skin. The blade was cold, a sharp, metallic chill that jolted her senses, a stark contrast to the heat of her embarrassment that flushed her skin. She felt it glide smoothly over the softening gel, a fragrant cloud of lavender and chamomile, the hairs parting like a curtain to reveal the tender skin beneath, pale and vulnerable. His hand was steady, the movements of his wrist fluid and practiced, honed by years of discipline. The only sound in the room was the soft scbang of the razor against her skin, a delicate whisper, and the rasp of her breath, ragged and uneven. The silence amplified the intimacy of the moment, a fragile bubble around them.

Nalini closed her eyes, the delicate scent of the shaving cream filling her nostrils, a sensory overload that momentarily distracted her from the razor's sharp edge. She felt the tickle of the shaving cream as it melted away the hair, a strange, almost erotic sensation. Each stroke sent a shiver down her spine, the anticipation building with every pass of the blade, a tightening coil in her stomach. Her arms felt heavy, her muscles tense as she held them aloft, a silent offering. The occasional touch of Anbu's hand, a comforting squeeze on her shoulder, or a gentle caress of her wrist with his thumb, was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality, a tether to the present moment.

Then, the razor. The first stroke was tentative, a feather-light graze across my skin, barely there. Nalini gasped, a small, involuntary sound. It tickled and hurt, a confusing combination of sensations. Slowly, carefully, Anbu began to shave. The rasp of the razor against her skin was amplified in the small bathroom, each stroke a violation, a trespass on her personal space that both terrified and intrigued her. It was a surrender, a relinquishing of control, and the unknown stretched before her, both terrifying and undeniably exciting.

Nalini focused on her breathing, trying to detach herself from the scene. The sterile white walls of the room seemed to press in on her, amplifying the already suffocating anxiety. But the sensations were impossible to ignore. The tug of the skin, a subtle protest against the forced smoothness that was to come. The cool slickness of the cream, a temporary balm that did little to soothe her frayed nerves. And the weight of their gazes, heavy and assessing, stripping her bare long before the razor even touched her skin.

Anbu worked with surprising care, his expression unreadable. His touch was feather-light as the razor skimmed her skin, a delicate dance between precision and intrusion. Each stroke was meticulous, almost artistic, as if he were carving a delicate sculpture, not just removing hair. The scbang of the blade was intermittently interrupted by the soft swish of a cloth as the foam was wiped away, revealing more of her bare flesh to their eyes. With each pass, she felt herself shrinking, becoming smaller and more exposed under their scrutiny.

Nalini felt a strange mix of emotions churning within her—humiliation, hot and stinging, at the violation of her privacy; fear, a cold knot in her stomach tightening with each stroke; and an odd sense of relief as the hair disappeared, as if shedding a layer of her former self. The smoothness was unfamiliar, alien, the sensation of cool air against her skin sending a shiver through her body, a physical manifestation of her vulnerability. She was acutely aware of their presence, their eyes on her, their breaths syncing with her own in an eerie, unsettling rhythm.

Anbu's strokes grew more confident, his movements fluid and assured, his dark eyes never leaving her skin as he worked. The razor's rasp grew rhythmic, a strange sort of lullaby in the tension-filled room, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of her heart. Nalini's breathing grew steadier, mirroring his pace, the initial fear slowly giving way to a newfound sense of vulnerability, a raw exposure that left her trembling. The gentle tug of the blade was almost soothing, a strange disconnect from the reality of her situation, a stark contrast to the harshness of their situation and the unknown future that awaited her.

When Anbu finished shaving one armpit, he stepped back, a barely perceptible hesitation in his movements. His eyes lingered on the newly exposed skin, the curve of her underarm suddenly stark and vulnerable. A flicker of something unreadable passed across his face before he nodded curtly to Teja, signaling him to take over.

Teja moved forward with an eagerness that made Nalini's stomach twist. Where Anbu had been methodical and almost impersonal, Teja seemed charged with a different energy. His hands were less gentle, his movements more urgent as he took the razor. His eyes never left her armpit, his gaze hungry as he searched for any stray hairs, his focus so intense it felt like a violation.

He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching her skin as he inspected his handiwork, the air thick with the scent of shaving cream and his own musky cologne. "Almost," he murmured, the sound sending a shiver down Nalini's spine. "But there are a few strands we've missed." His voice was low, almost a purr, and she felt a strange, unwelcome heat build between her chest. His words, seemingly innocuous, felt loaded with unspoken implications.

Teja picked up the can of shaving cream with a grin, his eyes gleaming with something that made Nalini deeply uneasy. He applied it liberally to her armpit, his fingertips lingering on her skin as he worked the foam into the remaining hairs. The pressure was a little too firm, the circles he made a little too wide. Nalini felt the room spin, a dizzying mix of discomfort and growing dread, as she watched him in the mirror. His movements were too intimate, too personal, stripping away any pretense of clinical detachment.

The coolness of the shaving cream was a brief respite from the heat of her embarrassment. But even that small comfort was overshadowed by Teja's unsettling proximity. His hands felt strange against her skin, his touch more possessive than she was comfortable with, a subtle assertion of dominance that made her want to recoil. And all the while, Anbu's eyes remained on her, his gaze never wavering from her face. She couldn't decipher the expression on his face – was it concern, curiosity, or something else entirely? The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires and the unsettling feeling that she was caught in a game with rules she didn't understand.