Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

The sunlight had climbed halfway up the living room tiles.
She had just wiped the dining table. A few grains of dried sambar rice still clung to the bottom of her fingers. The kids had gone. The elder one without socks, the younger one with a sticker stuck to his hair.
She poured water from the copper jug into a tumbler and sat near the window.
The steel chair was hot. She shifted slightly, letting the back of her nightie unstick from her skin. It clung around her thighs, especially where the sweat had settled while she was wiping the kitchen slab earlier.
She hadn’t changed since morning.
After that moment with Raj… she hadn’t touched her wardrobe.
That accidental bend, the half-open zip, the way he stood near the kitchen door without stepping in—polite, as always. But still, her chest had refused to stay still since.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He didn’t look down. But something in the silence told me… he had already seen.
And chose to look away.
Even now, her nipple felt slightly sore—brushed too hard against the cloth as she’d rushed to zip herself up.

---

She was wiping her face with the end of her nightie when the phone rang.
Not a message. A call.
Kartik.
She picked up.
P: “Haan.”
K: “Lunch?”
P: “Going to. Rasam’s on the stove.”
K: “Hmm. Listen. Arjun’s coming.”
She paused, her hand stopping halfway to adjust her hair.
P: “Where?”
K: “Chennai. Transfer. Same company. New role. Starting next week.”
She stood up slowly, turned off the fan, and walked to the kitchen.
P: “He found a room?”
K: “No, no. I told him to stay with us for now. A few days. Till he figures out hostel or PG.”
She didn’t speak immediately.
The lid on the rasam vessel was shaking. Boil was starting.
Kartik’s voice returned. “It’s okay no, pa? You know him. He’s comfortable here.”
She reached for the ladle.
P: “Yeah.”
K: “He’ll come Saturday. Sent a bag ahead by courier. I’ll bring it home if it reaches office.”
P: “Hmm.”
K: “That’s all. I’ll be in calls till 5. Don’t wait for me.”
P: “Okay.”
Call ended.

---

She didn’t move right away.
Just stared at the rasam bubbling like it had nowhere else to go.
Arjun.
It had been two years. Maybe more.
The last time he visited, he was thinner. Still talking about interviews and Bangalore traffic and his broken shoe lace.
Same crooked smile. A bag of snacks in one hand. T-shirt hanging off his shoulder like he still hadn’t learned how to wear a proper collar.
The boys had jumped on him, called him chithappa like it was a cartoon name.
She had made coffee. He had slurped it like a hostel student.
And now he was coming again.
Not as a guest.
Not for a weekend.
To stay.

---

She opened the fridge, pulled out a lemon, cut it into four, and stared at the juice trickling down her palm.
Why did her breath feel… tight?
It wasn’t fear.
Just something else.
Something that made her press her thighs together without realising.

---

She wiped her hand on the towel, turned the gas off, and let the steam fill the kitchen.
Her mind was quiet.
But somewhere inside, a picture of him stood up.
A boy with long arms.
Hair that always looked like he had just woken up.
Eyes that smiled faster than his mouth.
She exhaled slowly, adjusted her nightie strap, and muttered—
“He's coming…”
As if saying it aloud would make it less real.

[yazhiniram]

The sun was not hot anymore.
It had turned that soft gold colour—where everything on the floor looks warmer than it is. The TV was on. One boy was crying because the other had taken his pencil box. She handed him a Marie biscuit without saying a word.
Kartik had sent a message. “Stuck in call. Eat without me if late.”
She wiped her hands and tied her hair into a loose plait. Checked the fridge.
Two tomatoes. One shrivelled. No onions. No coriander.
The cloth bag was still hanging on the hook near the back door.
She changed into a churidhar. No make-up. No kajal. Just a small red bindi.
Dupatta folded and pinned on one shoulder—not even around the chest fully. She didn’t care.
But the moment she stepped into her slippers…
She remembered Arjun.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Saturday is two days away. That’s it.
One boy is coming to stay. Kartik’s own thambi.
So why am I feeling like I have to change how I walk in my own house?

---

She shut the door gently. The corridor was quiet. Only the sound of vessels from upstairs. Maybe someone cooking fish.
The lift was slow. She didn’t wait.
Took the stairs.
As she walked down past the second floor, her hand touched the railing by habit.
It was warm from sunlight.
By the time she reached the lobby, her steps had settled. Mind slightly quieter.
But when she neared the main gate…
She felt it.
Eyes.
Not imagined.
Watched.

---

The new security guy was standing beside the stool, drinking tea from a paper cup.
Tall. Maybe North Indian. Wheatish. Slim but not skinny. Blue shirt tucked too neatly.
She had noticed him once or twice. That’s all.
But today?
Today, he noticed her.
Head to toe.
Not once.
Twice.
And the second time, his eyes stayed on her chest longer than a second.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Cheap fellow.
Look somewhere else.
She didn’t look at him directly. Just walked.
But her spine straightened.
Her chin lifted slightly.
And her thighs?
They tightened. Almost on their own.

---

Outside, the street had that usual mix of scooter horns, boys playing near the transformer box, and the smell of fried snacks from the shop.
She walked with her head still high.
Not proud.
Just… aware.
The grocer gave her a smile. Usual rate. No coriander today.
She nodded. Took the change. Wiped her palms on her dupatta.
And on the way back…
Her fingers pressed slightly harder against the cloth bag.
Because she knew—
That man’s eyes would be there again.

---

And they were.
This time, he stood a little straighter.
His eyes didn't blink.
And Pavitra…
She didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t frown.
Didn’t cover herself.
She walked straight past him.
And let him see her back.
The curve of her hips. The fall of her dupatta. The quiet rhythm of a woman who had nothing to prove… but something starting to burn.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He looked.
He doesn’t deserve to.
But still…
He looked.
And part of me…
Let him.

[yazhiniram]

The chillness from the vegetables had already faded by the time she entered the lobby.
But her body still held the warmth of that look.
The security guy—new fellow. He had looked at her with that mix of “see once, see again” boldness.
Not a mistake. Not accidental.

You’ve seen breasts before, idiot. Stop acting like it’s news.
She didn’t glare. Just walked. Bag in one hand. Chin held straight.
But the feel of his stare?
It didn’t stay outside.

---

She turned the corner towards the lift.
The door was already open.
And inside—
Radhika akka and Raj.
Radhika was talking, turning toward him with a small laugh. Something about car washing coupons.
Raj just stood there. Calm. Holding his keys. Shirt sleeves folded to elbow. Slight stubble. Nothing flashy. Just… solid.
He looked up when he saw her.
Nodded. Quiet smile.
She stepped in. The plastic bag crinkled as it rubbed against her hip.
Radhika smiled, “Shopping-a?”
“Just quick veggies,” Pavitra replied. “Got some milk too.”
The door closed.

---

The lift hummed upward.
Small silence.
Radhika leaned slightly against the railing.
Raj was beside her—not touching, but near.
Pavitra noticed it now.
The air between them.
Nothing loud.
Nothing romantic.
Just... stillness. Comfort. A kind of closeness that didn't ask permission.
And him?
His presence felt different. Grounded.
Like a tree that had grown two feet taller since last week.

---

She turned slightly, her voice light: “Let’s drink tea and then go home. I just got milk also.”
Radhika laughed. “Aiyyo, not now. Let us come properly one day. Clean and peaceful.”
Pavitra smiled, shaking her head. “One cup only. Fresh milk, full fat.”
Raj looked at Radhika once. Didn’t speak.
Radhika hesitated.
They were thinking.
Not rejecting.
Just… unsure.
The lift slowed.
Bell sound. Her floor.
She stepped out, pausing with one hand on the grill gate.
“Come if you want. I’ll start the kettle anyway.”

---

The lift slowed.
Pavitra pulled open the grill gate with one hand, balancing the warm vegetable bag in the other.
She stepped out first.

Raj stepped out.
No smile. No drama. Just followed Pavitra out like it was the most natural thing.
Pavitra didn’t say anything.
She didn’t even look surprised.
Radhika blinked.
She stood there. A half-second. Then followed.

---

That’s it.
One step forward. And I knew.
This man… he’ll follow.
Not because I pull him.
But because he’s already walking toward me.

---

The front door was open.
Inside, noise.
Slippers scattered.
Pencils on the floor.
The smell of fevicol from some craft project gone wrong.
The boys were shouting from the hall.
“Maaa! Look, rocket drawing!”
“Amma! Tell him don’t touch my sharpener!”
Raj smiled and walked toward them.
“Drawing, ah?” he asked. “Show me. Whose rocket goes higher?”
The boys didn’t know him well.
But they knew energy when they saw it.
They accepted him quickly—talking over each other, waving papers.

---

Pavitra walked into the kitchen.
She opened the fridge, took out the milk packet, and placed the steel vessel on the stove.
Radhika followed, hesitating for a second at the doorway.
“Shall I help?” she asked, eyes scanning the countertop.
Pavitra nodded. “Sugar tin is there. Dabara set is in the top shelf.”
She pulled her dupatta across her chest once and tucked it loosely.
The flame danced under the milk vessel.
Outside, Raj was still talking to the boys.
Asking questions. Not loudly.
But the kind of voice children listen to without knowing why.

---

There are men who ask before entering.
And men who just walk in like they’ve always belonged.
Raj didn’t knock.
And I didn’t stop him.

---

The milk bubbled once. Rose. Settled.
Radhika wiped the counter with a tissue. Pavitra dropped tea powder into the boiling milk.
Her fingers moved normally.
But somewhere behind her spine…
A thread was pulling tight.

[masud93]

thanks for update,,,and my humble request "give A Long Big update,,,,

[AjitKumar]

Very niceee

[yazhiniram]

The milk had just settled into the coffee. The foam rose soft.
Pavitra wiped the side of the dabara set with the towel and placed all three cups on the tray.
“Strong but not bitter,” she murmured.
Radhika nodded. “He likes it that way. I’ll take the cups. You bring the spoons.”
But Pavitra picked up the tray before she could.
“I’ll go. You relax for once,” she said with a smile.
Radhika followed her to the doorway.
Just as Pavitra stepped out—
Radhika blinked. “Aiyyo! Sugar! I forgot completely!”
She turned back toward the kitchen.

---

Pavitra walked out into the hall.
The evening sun had faded now. Tube light buzzed. TV volume is low. Boys arguing over a pencil sharpener.
Raj looked up as she entered. Eyes steady. One leg crossed over the other.
She walked straight to him.
Bend.
Tray forward.
Cup lifted.
Offered.
But—
He didn’t touch the cup.
He touched her hand.
Fingers curled around her palm.
Warm. Firm. Present.
Not tight.
But not letting go.

---

Her Mind:
Fuck.
His hand is holding mine.
Not the cup.
Me.
His thumb rested near the inside of her wrist.
Pulse.
He felt it.
She stared at him.
Face calm. Heart screaming.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t pull away.
Just tilted her head slightly—chin toward the kitchen.
Your wife’s coming, idiot.
Raj didn’t move.
Didn’t smile.
But his thumb… made one small circle over her wrist bone.
Her inner thighs pulsed.
A soft wetness bloomed.
She swallowed once.
Held her breath.
And then—
Footsteps.
Radhika.

---

Raj let go.
Took the cup from her hand like it was nothing.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes already on the coffee.
Pavitra turned and walked back slowly.

---

Her Mind:
He held my hand.
Not in secret.
Not in panic.
But like it was his.
And me?
I didn’t stop him.
Just warned him that time was short.

---

Radhika handed her the sugar tin with a grin. “I always forget something. I’m hopeless.”
Pavitra smiled.
But her hand?
Still warm.
Still tingling.
Still remembering the shape of his fingers.
And her pussy?
Wet.
Not because of what happened.
But because of what almost did.

---

The last sips had gone quiet.
Only the fan moved now, whispering in soft beats above them.
Radhika stood up first, adjusting her kurti.
“Okay, done pa. Let’s go. Your husband might come home and chase us out.”
Pavitra laughed gently. “Let him. I’ll tell him the filter coffee was better than his mood.”
Raj smiled faintly. “I’ll second that.”
Pavitra picked up the tray. One hand steady under it.
Radhika walked toward the door, still talking about weekend plans.
Raj stood up behind her, phone sliding into his pocket.
As he stepped past Pavitra—
His hand brushed her ass.
Light.
Soft.
Not too firm.
But not too far either.

---

Her Mind:
Wait.
Did that just—
Yes.
That was not the tray.
Not the sofa.
That was his fucking palm on my backside.
Was it an accident?
Maybe.
But the way it lingered for that half-second?
That was not innocent.

---

She didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t turn.
She stood like nothing happened.
But inside her body?
A silent explosion.
Her thighs pressed together.
Her pussy throbbed once.
Hard.

---

Raj kept walking.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t speak.
Radhika was already near the lift, calling him.
He joined her.
She turned once. “Thanks for the coffee, Pavi!”
Pavitra smiled. “Come anytime.”
She stood there.
Tray in hand.
Ass is still buzzing from his skin.

---

Her Mind – Me:
That palm knew where it touched.
And it didn’t say sorry.
I didn’t want sorry.
I wanted more.
And now…
So does my pussy.

---

The door clicked shut.
She walked to the sink.
Wash one tumbler.
Then leaned both hands against the steel slab.
The tray clattered softly behind her.
But inside her panties…
a slow, warm wetness spread.
And it had nothing to do with coffee.

[Dumeelkumar]

Lovely update

[Hotyyhard]

i think ram also playing his cards slowly

[yazhiniram]

7:30 AM.
The sun had already slipped through the grill, painting lines across the dining table.
Inside the kitchen, the idli cooker whistled low.
Pavitra moved in rhythm.
Pour. Flip. Wipe. Serve.
Two plates. Two kids. One husband—half-awake, half-scrolling.
“Take it hot,” she said, dropping the last idli on Kartik’s plate.
He nodded, still rubbing his eyes. “You made chutney also?”
“Mmm.”
She placed a cup of tea next to him. “Strong. No sugar.”
“Perfect,” he murmured.
She didn’t reply. She was already filling the kettle.

---

By 8:00, the kitchen was clean.
Lunch prep done halfway. Tamarind soaking. Rice measured. Dabba lids clicked shut.
She stood in front of the mirror, wiping her forehead.
Today’s chudi was a deep green cotton, with white threadwork near the sleeves.
Fitting. Clean. Not flashy.
But her curves?
Still spoke.
She tied her hair into a ponytail. Slipped on her slippers.
Lift key. Wallet. Cloth bag.
Out.

---

The lobby was half-lit.
Newspaper bundles still near the pillar. Someone’s child’s bicycle resting against the wall.
She walked straight across toward the exit.
And then—
That look.
From the corner.
Security cabin.
That same man.
He was sitting on the plastic chair, phone in hand.
But his eyes?
Lifted. Followed her.
Started at her face.
Dropped.
Paused.
Stuck around her chest.
Moved lower.
Stayed near her hips.
Didn’t blink.

---

Pavitra walked past.
Then stopped.
Paused.
Took a breath.
Turned back.
He blinked.
She stepped forward—just two feet.
P: “Don’t do that.”
S: “Uh?”
P: “You heard me.”
S: “Sorry… what madam?”
P: “That staring. Don’t do it.”
He stood up, awkward.
S: “No madam… I wasn’t—”
She didn’t raise her voice.
P: “You were. I walked right past you and you didn’t even look away.”
S: “Sorry madam… I was just sitting here—”
P: “I didn’t say you shouldn’t sit. I said don’t stare like that.”
He rubbed his hand against his pants, looking away.
S: “I didn’t mean it madam… just looked once—”
P: “You looked once. Then again. Then didn’t stop.”
S: “Please madam… not intentional. I respect you.”
She stared.
P: “You think respect means keeping your mouth shut and doing your job, but your eyes can go wherever they want?”
S: “No madam. I’ll be careful.”
She looked at him, calm.
P: “I’m not asking you to be careful. Just be decent.”
He nodded quickly.
P:  “I’ve seen this before. I’m not stupid.”
S: “No no… I won’t repeat.”
P: “Don’t. Because I’m not going to ignore it next time.”
He looked nervous. “Madam… please… don’t tell association…”
She tilted her head.
P: “Then don’t give me a reason to.”
He nodded again.
She turned, walked toward the gate.
Didn’t slam her slippers. Didn’t look back.
But her message?
Clear as glass.

---

Her Mind:
That’s it.
I don’t need to shout.
I just need to stop pretending like I don’t see it.
Let him sit with that.
Let him learn.

---

She stepped out into the sun.
A gentle breeze moved through her hair.
For the first time in weeks…
She didn’t feel watched.
She felt in control.

---

The main road outside was already stirring.
Vendors had started laying out their vegetables.
A boy ran past with a basket of tomatoes.
Pavitra kept walking. Chin up. Cloth bag swaying with each step.
Her green chudi stuck lightly to her lower back. Sunlight warms the back of her neck.
She was four steps from the tea shop corner when she heard it.
The engine.
Smooth.
Low.
Stopping beside her without drama.
She glanced to the side.
Ram.
One hand on the handle. Elbow resting. Calm face. Half smile.
“You’re going somewhere?”
“Yeah. Vegetable shop.”
“Come. I’ll drop you.”
She looked down at the road.
Then at him.
“It’s fine. I can walk.”
“Why walk? Just sit. I’m heading there anyway.”
She hesitated.
Raj didn’t repeat himself.
Just looked at her.
Soft. Sure.

---

She took a breath.
Stepped forward.
Lifted the back of her chudi slightly.
Gripped the side bar of the Unicorn.
And climbed on.
Both legs on either side.
Chudi folding under her thighs.
Seat warm.
Body closer than she meant it to be.

---

Her Mind:
God.
His back is right in front of my face.
If I move even a little, my breasts will press against him.
This seat is snug. My ass feels like it’s touching him already.
Why the fuck is this making me wet?
I’m going to buy tomatoes. Not get fucked.
But my pussy?
It’s acting like I climbed on top of him—not the bike.
My thighs are already warm.
If he brakes hard even once, my whole body’s going to land on his back.
My nipples are tight.
My panties are wet.
And the worst part?
I haven’t even sat properly yet.

---

She adjusted her dupatta.
Sat straight.
Hands on the side rail.
Eyes forward.
The engine purred again.

---

The bike turned past the first curve.
Wind brushing the sides of her cheeks.
Her dupatta fluttered just behind her shoulder.
She didn’t hold him.
She held the side bar.
Knuckles white.
Breath tight.
Then—
Thud. Lift. Drop.
The bike rolled over a speed bump.
And her chest?
Bounced.
Straight into his back.

---

Her Mind:
Shit.
My boobs just slapped his spine.
I didn’t even get a warning.
Fuck. That bounce was full.
I could feel my nipples drag across his shirt.
He didn’t react.
He didn’t shift.
But I know he felt it.
That was full skin-to-shirt contact.
My breasts haven’t touched a man properly in years.
And now?
They just introduced themselves without permission.
My pussy just twitched.
My thighs pressed the seat tighter.
I can’t even look at him now.

---

The bike slowed near the small local veg shop.
Few baskets on the ground. Brinjal. Beans. Curry leaves.
Pavitra looked to the side, ready to get down.
Raj didn’t stop the engine.
He turned his head slightly.
“Two kilometers from here, there's a proper market. Better vegetables. Cleaner stuff.”
She opened her mouth.
“Ram, no need—”
But the bike had already pulled forward.
No waiting.
No question.
Just motion.

---

Her Mind:
He’s not even asking.
He’s taking me.
And I’m not stopping him.
I’m still wet from that bounce.
My boobs are still tingling.
And now I’m riding behind a man who didn’t even flinch when they touched him.
If he hits another bump…
I might just moan.

---

The road stretched ahead.
And she stayed on the seat.
Not because she agreed.
But because her body already had.

---

The market was alive with sound.
Plastic sheets flapping in the breeze.
Crows hopping across crates.
Vendors calling out prices like a song.
Pavitra stepped off the bike.
Her salwar stuck slightly to the back of her thighs.
She adjusted her dupatta—tight across her chest.
Tried to walk ahead like it was just a normal errand.
Raj parked and walked beside her.
No hesitation.
Just like that, he was next to her.
“Ladyfinger for Brinjal?”
“Yeah. Get half kilo.”
He leaned toward the vendor, pointing.
“Half kilo. Put properly. No damaged pieces.”
He picked one. Pressed gently.
“No good. Next.”
He was talking with ease.
Bargaining.
Getting prices down.
Holding her cloth bag like he’d done it every weekend.

---

Her Mind:
He’s acting like this is his job.
Like I’m his wife.
He’s not letting me lift anything.
He’s checking brinjals like he’s feeding his kids.
My husband doesn’t even know how much beans cost.
And this man?
He knows the price, the smell, the weight.
And all the while…
He keeps looking at me.
My neck.
My fingers.
My side when I bend to check onions.
He’s not staring.
He’s watching.
And that’s worse.
Because I feel seen.
I feel… owned.

---

A tomato vendor called him “anna.”
Raj just smiled and asked for two kilos.
Pavitra stood behind, brushing her hair back from her cheek.
The sun had made her skin sticky.
But his gaze?
Made it burn.
He handed the bag to her.
She reached for it.
But he didn’t let go.
Just held it for an extra second.
Their fingers touched.
Only a little.
But the heat from his hand…
stayed.

---

Her Mind:
He’s holding my bag like he holds my place in this market.
Quiet.
But permanent.
People are seeing us together.
And no one’s confused.
They already think we’re a couple.
And me?
I’m not correcting them.

---

They turned the corner toward the coriander stand.
Pavitra looked up.
Raj was already talking to the next vendor.
She followed.
And deep inside her salwar…
Her pussy was pulsing.
Not from his words.
But from the way he behaved like she belonged to him.
And how is her body?
Wasn't resisting.

---

The market was behind them now.
Plastic rustling.
Smell of banana leaves.
Pavitra stood near the bike, one hand wiping her face with the edge of her dupatta.
Raj loaded the final items into the cloth bag.
Full. Round. Heavy.
She tried to lift it.
“Wait,” he said.
Took the bag gently.
Placed it near the petrol tank.
Between his legs.
“You hold it. Won’t slip.”
She looked at the space.
Then at him.
Her mind is already tightening.
But she climbed on.
Softly.
Sat.
And this time—
There was no gap.
Her knees touched the back of his thighs.
Her hands reached forward, around the bag.
And her chest?
Pressed softly, fully—
against his back.

---

Her Mind:
Fuck.
My boobs are fully smashed against him.
There’s no bra that can hide this.
He can feel it.
He has to.
How can he not?
I can feel the shape of his spine against my nipples.
They’re hard already.
The bag is pressing against my stomach.
My pussy is heating again.
I’m holding the bag like a seatbelt.
But really?
I’m hugging him.
I didn’t mean to.
But this is a full, slow hug from behind.
My breasts are saying sorry and thank you at the same time.
If he moves even a little—
My nipples will drag across his back like fingers.
God help me if there’s another speed bump.

---

Raj didn’t speak.
He just leaned slightly forward.
Started the engine.
The bike shook gently under her.
And Pavitra?
Stayed there.
Pressed.
Wet.
Alive.

---

The road curved past a half-closed mechanic shop.
Dust blew across their path.
Pavitra was holding the cloth bag tight.
Her hands curved around it like a brace.
The bike turned.
Wobbled.
And hit a rough patch—
Two bumps back-to-back.
Her body lifted.
Thudded forward.
Her chest crashed into his back.
And one hand slipped off the bag.
Fell forward.
Palm-first—
Right over the curve of his pants.
Right over his cock.

---

Her Mind:
Oh fuck.
Oh god.
That’s his cock.
That’s his actual cock under my palm.
I can feel the shape of it.
Soft… but not small.
Firm enough to know exactly what I touched.
And my breasts?
They’re not just touching his back now—
They’re fucking glued to it.
My nipples just flattened against his spine like they belong there.
And my hand…
My hand is still on him.
Why am I not pulling it back?
Why is my pussy throbbing like it just got kissed?

---

She pulled her hand back slowly.
Hold the bag again.
Didn’t say a word.
Raj didn’t turn.
Didn’t react.
Just said, soft—
“Careful.”

---

Her Mind:
Careful?
That's all?
I just touched your cock by mistake and you say be careful?
What if I did it on purpose next time?
What if my fingers don’t slip…
But curl?

---

The engine hummed again.
The bike moved smoothly.
And behind him?
Pavitra was sitting in full silence.
But inside?
Her mind was fingering itself.

---

The road behind them faded.
The familiar curve of the apartment gate appeared.
The watchman looked up.
Saw them together.
Two people. One bike.
Her chest pressed against his back.
Bag tight between their bodies.
The watchman blinked.
But he looked down.
Didn’t say a word.

---

Her Mind:
He saw.
He saw how I’m sitting.
How close I am.
Maybe he saw my breasts pressed into Ram’s back.
Good.
Let him see.
Let someone know what it feels like to ride behind a man who knows how to hold space.

---

The bike slowed into the parking lot.
Corner spot. Shadowed.
The engine went silent.
Pavitra took a breath.
Hold the bag with both hands.
Started to slide off.
But as she leaned forward to dismount—
Her breast dragged across his back again.
This time, heavier.
Longer.
She couldn’t stop it.
And then—
his hand moved.
Reflex?
Or not?
Either way—his palm brushed across her breast.
Warm.
Full.
A gentle press.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Aiyo.
That’s my boob.
That’s his hand.
That’s not fabric. That’s skin.
He touched it.
Maybe he didn’t mean to.
Maybe he did.
But fuck…
My nipple felt his lifeline.
I want to stop breathing.
Or start moaning.
My pussy is not just wet.
It’s slippery.
One more second and I would’ve grabbed him.

---

She stepped back.
Steady feet.
He didn’t turn.
Didn’t apologize.
Just got off.
Lifted the bag like nothing happened.
And started walking toward the lift.
No words.
No look.
Just quiet masculinity.
And Pavitra?
She followed.

---

Her Mind:
He’s carrying the weight.
I’m carrying the sin.
And both feel light.

---

The parking was quiet.
Not even the hum of a second bike.
Raj walked ahead.
Pressed the lift button.
The door opened.
He stood aside.
Pavitra stepped in.
He followed.
Placed the heavy vegetable bag down near his feet.
Then—
He lifted both arms.
Stretched his shoulders.
Slow.
Quiet.
His shirt lifted just enough to show a line of skin near his hip.
She looked once.
Then looked away.

---

Her Mind:
Don’t look.
Don’t stare.
But fuck… that stretch…
That forearm…
That side curve…
I could fuck that bone with my eyes.
Why is my pussy acting like it’s standing in water?

---

He exhaled once. Casual.
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Lift moved.
No words.
Just silence.
And breath.
Then—
He looked at her.
Straight.
She looked back.
For half a second.
Too long.
Too open.
Too full of what they didn’t say in the parking lot.

---

Ding.
The lift stopped.
His floor.
He didn’t move.
She glanced at him.
He didn’t even blink.
Just wait.
Doors closed again.

---

Her Mind:
He didn’t get down.
He’s staying with me.
For what?
For the bag?
Or for something else?
My nipples are tight again.
There’s nothing innocent about this ride.

---

Her floor came.
She stepped forward.
Bent slightly to lift the bag.
Pulled.
Nothing moved.
She tried again.
He stopped her hand.
Held it.
Warm fingers over her wrist.
“Don’t. I’ll bring it.”
She looked at him.
He didn’t smile.
Didn’t flirt.
Just lifted the bag.
As if it was nothing.
“Go.”
She stepped out.
Walked forward.
And behind her—
His eyes didn’t leave.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He’s watching my ass.
I know it.
I can feel it.
The heat from his stare is moving up my spine like slow fingers.
Let him look.
Let him stand there and swallow me with his eyes.
Because my panties?
Are soaked with everything I didn’t say in that lift.

---

The main door clicked open with a soft squeak.
The flat was still cool from the morning shade.
A half-filled tumbler of tea stood on the center table.
Kartik, in his faded navy T-shirt and shorts, lay reclined on the sofa, one leg up, phone in hand.
The muted sounds of a YouTube video played from his screen.
He didn’t look up immediately.
But Pavitra had already entered.
She stepped to the side, letting the door swing wider.
Behind her—Ram.
Carrying the full cloth bag of vegetables with one hand, balanced, easy.
No strain.
No noise.
Kartik finally glanced up, blinking out of screen-world.
“Oh—Raj anna?”
Raj gave a gentle smile.
“Good morning.”
“Hey… good morning. You both went together?”
Pavitra, setting her slippers on the rack, just nodded once. “We met outside.”
“I was heading out,” Raj added, “and saw her walking. Thought I’d drop her.”
Kartik sat up straighter, rubbing his neck.
“You didn’t have to carry the bag all the way up though…”
Raj moved past the hall gently.
“Not a problem. It’s heavy today. Better I carry it than make her struggle.”
He turned, looked at Pavitra for a brief moment, then turned to Kartik.
“Where should I keep it?”
Pavitra spoke for the first time since entering.
“Kitchen counter.”
Raj nodded.
Walked in.
His slippers made almost no sound.
Kartik turned to her. “You really went far? What did you get?”
Pavitra moved to the fridge, pulled the door open halfway. “Normal stuff. The usual place was too crowded.”
He hummed. “Even then… next time just take the car, no?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Still… I would’ve dropped you.”
From the kitchen, Ram’s voice came, soft.
“There’s good stock today. Got some nice green chillies, and the tomatoes are firm.”
Kartik smiled faintly. “You know how to shop ah, anna?”
Raj returned from the kitchen, wiping his palm lightly on his pants.
“I lived alone for four years. Chennai’s vegetable rates will make anyone smart.”
Kartik chuckled. “True. That’s why I survive on zomato. Easier to tap than bargain.”
They shared a brief laugh.
Pavitra walked to the dining table, took a glass of water.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood.
Listening.
Watching.

---

Her Mind:
He’s speaking with so much calm.
That same mouth said only one word to me: Careful.
And now it’s chatting with my husband like nothing ever happened.
I touched his cock in the during bike ride.
He felt my breast press into his back.
And now he’s standing near my fridge like it never happened.
God, the control of that man.
And me?
My salwar is still wet between the legs.

---

Kartik leaned forward. “Sit, anna. You just came from outside. I’ll ask Pavi to make tea.”
Raj raised a palm.
“No no… it’s okay. I have to step out again. Just wanted to drop the bag.”
“At least sit for two minutes.”
“I’ll come properly one day. Today, I’ve got something to handle at home.”
Pavitra glanced at him once.
A second too long.
Raj didn’t meet her eyes.
Kartik gave a friendly shrug. “Alright. But next time you’re not escaping tea.”
Raj smiled. “Promise.”
He turned to Pavitra. Nodded gently.
“Thanks for the ride back.”
She nodded.
No smile.
Just a soft blink.
As if to say, I’m not done feeling you yet.

---

Raj walked to the door.
Opened it.
Then paused.
Looked back at Kartik.
“Tell me if you need anything else, okay?”
“Of course, anna. Thank you.”
And he left.
The door clicked shut.

---

Kartik flopped back into the sofa.
Yawning.
Pavitra stood near the fridge.
Opened it.
Pulled out coriander, tomatoes.
Started washing quietly.
Her back to her husband.
Her hand on the tap.
Her thighs pressing together slightly under her salwar.

---

Her Mind:
I felt his cock.
I felt the heat of it.
I felt how natural it was to have him behind me, under me, around me.
And now I’m standing here…
cutting tomatoes.
Like I’m normal.
Like I’m untouched.
But my breasts still remember the stretch of his back.
My fingers still ache to grab what they accidentally grazed.
And my pussy?
It knows this is just the start.

---

The steel tumbler clinked as Pavitra rinsed it in the sink.
Kartik leaned against the fridge, arms folded.
“You could’ve called me, Pavi,” he said mildly. “I’d have dropped you.”
She wiped her fingers on the towel, didn’t turn fully.
“Raj was already outside. It just happened naturally.”
Kartik nodded slowly.
Didn’t argue.
“Hmm. Anyway, next time just tell me. That road’s not great for walking.”
“Mmm.”
Quiet.
Fan whirred.
A few birds chirped near the balcony grill.

---

Evening slipped in like a soft cloth being pulled across the floor.
By 6:15, the flat felt dimmer.
Ceiling lights are still off.
TV on low volume.
Kids on the carpet, playing with Beyblades and bursting into laughter.
“Is Chithappa coming today-aa?” one of them asked.
Pavitra smiled, folding a towel. “Yes. He’s coming with Appa.”
“He’s going to stay with us?”
“Just for a few days, kanna. Until he settles down.”
They nodded like they understood—though their minds were already on whether he’d bring chocolates.

---

7:10 PM.
The sound of the lift arriving.
Then voices outside.
Laughter.
Kartik’s familiar tone:
“Come, come… keep your bag inside. You’ll get used to the heat.”
And then—
The lock turned.
The door opened.
And Arjun stepped in.

---

Taller than Kartik by a bit.
Half-sleeve shirt, tucked loose over jeans.
Hair slightly longer than usual—college-boy style not fully gone.
He held two bags—one backpack, one trolley-style.
His smile was wide.
“Hi anni.”
Pavitra nodded, matching his smile.
“Welcome home.”
He walked in.
Set the bags down near the sofa.
The kids ran up.
“Chithappa! Chithappaaa!”
He crouched down, arms open.
Lifted one, hugged the other.
“They’ve grown, huh!”
“They missed you,” Kartik said, locking the door behind him. “I told them no chocolates until you unpack.”
“I brought something lah. Let me settle.”
He stood up, brushed his palms on his jeans.
Then looked at Pavitra again.
Not in any special way.
Just… warmly.

---

Her Mind:
He’s not a stranger.
We’ve spoken on calls.
He stayed with us during Kartik’s wedding.
We’ve had laughs, silly jokes, quick hellos.
But now?
He’s grown up.
And the way he fills this space…
Something tells me he’s not just here for now.

---

Pavitra turned toward the kitchen.
Put water to boil.
But her eyes kept glancing through the shelf gap.
At the bags.
At the new pair of shoes near the entrance.
And at the boy—
Who had suddenly become a man.

[Hotyyhard]

wow extraordinary update

[Dumeelkumar]

Superb, three men in queue now.

[zulfique]

what a lovely updates

[chellaporukki]

excellent narration friend

[Hotyyhard]

update please

[Nandhu4]

Superrrrrr

[Rangabaashyam]

very good going.the useless husband deserves to be a cuck to see his wife well fucked by many men.

[masud93]

Thanks for update,,,yet not read fully,, but i think It's going be seductive way,,,
slowly seduce karna mujhe jiyada accha lagta hai

[yazhiniram]

The rasam was ready. Idiyappam was steamed and covered. Chutney in the fridge, just to keep it cool.
She stirred the kurma once more.
Kartik peeked in. “Dinner is almost ready?”
“Just need to serve,” she said. “Ask him to freshen up.”
“Arjun, wash up and come. Use the kids’ towel near the bathroom.”
Arjun smiled. “Two minutes. I’m starving.”

---

Dinner was quiet, but warm.
They sat on the floor, simple mat spread. Arjun sat cross-legged near the edge. The kids between him and Kartik. Pavitra sat nearest the kitchen door.
Plates clinked softly. Coconut milk was poured. The smell of ghee drifted faintly from the idiyappam.
Arjun took a bite. “Anni… this chutney tastes exactly like amma prepared.”
She looked up. “Amma’s recipe. Coconut, roasted chillies, little ginger.”
“Brings back memories. I haven’t tasted like this in years.”
The younger boy wiped chutney on his brother’s shirt. Pavitra reached over, pulling his hand away gently. “Eat properly. Don’t start now.”
Kartik was already on his phone. Messaging some team group. Eating with one hand.
“Idiyappam soft today,” he said absently.
Pavitra just nodded. “Made fresh.”
Arjun smiled, watching the small interactions. “You all have your rhythm here, no?”
She looked at him for a second, then down at her plate. “It comes with routine.”

---

After dinner, the boys went to brush, still giggling about something. Arjun helped clear the plates.
“You sit,” she said, taking the tumbler from his hand.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and moved toward his bag, which was still unopened near the sofa.
Kartik stretched on the floor, scrolling through some cricket stats.
Pavitra wiped the counter slowly. Her hands moved, but her ears stayed tuned to the sounds behind her.
Zips opening. Fabric rustling. The soft weight of a towel being unfolded.
She glanced once, through the shelf mirror.
Arjun had changed into a plain white T-shirt and tracks. He was sitting on the floor, folding his used clothes back into the bag.
Her eyes dropped, for just a second.
The way the fabric moved across his shoulder. The shape of his arm as he lifted a rolled-up jeans.
Her Mind:
That’s still Arjun.
Same boy who once broke our soap dish during Pongal.
But now…
He’s not a boy.
And I need to stop looking like I’ve forgotten that.

---

He stood up, scratching the back of his head. “Anni, should I sleep in the hall or take that mattress to the kids’ room?”
“The hall is cooler,” she replied. “And they’ll kick you all night.”
He laughed. “True. They don’t sleep, they wrestle.”
She walked toward the shelf, took out a folded sheet, and handed it to him.
“Use this for now. Pillow’s there near the corner.”
Their fingers brushed lightly as he took it.
No tension. No lingering. Just a passing moment.
But she still felt it.
Her Mind:
He didn’t flinch.
Neither did I.
But there’s something about contact that the body remembers.
Even if it’s small.

---

The house was quiet by 10:30.
Kids asleep. TV on low volume. Kartik dozing in and out of whatever was playing.
Arjun lay back on the mat, one hand behind his head. The fan stirred the air slowly.
Pavitra wiped the final tumbler. Her nightie clung slightly near her waist. She didn’t adjust it. Just folded the towel, hung it neatly.
Her eyes drifted.
Arjun was half-asleep. T-shirt rumpled at the stomach. Track pants riding up slightly above the ankle.
He turned once, adjusting his arm. His chest lifted softly with each breath.
Her Mind:
He’s sleeping like a student who hasn’t had a proper bed in weeks.
There’s no guard in his body. No stiffness.
He’s real. Human. Close.
And just a few feet from my room.
She turned off the kitchen light. Moved slowly into the bedroom.
Kartik had shifted to his side. His breath was even, light.
She pulled the blanket. Lay down gently. One child turned in his sleep beside her.
The fan hummed.
She stared at the ceiling.

---

And then…
That morning.
The bike ride.
Ram’s back under her chest.
Her breasts pressed into him.
And that bump.
Her hand—landing right where it shouldn’t have.
Her Mind:
His cock.
The way it felt under my palm.
That size. That shape.
Even though it was soft, I could feel the weight of it.
That wasn’t imagination.
And now…
I’m lying here.
My breasts are still sensitive.
My cunt still remembers.
And just one wall away—Arjun.
Younger. Familiar.
But suddenly… a man.
I didn’t ask for this heat.
But now that it’s here…
My thighs won’t stay still.

---

She shifted slightly. Pressed her legs together.
Kartik murmured something in his sleep.
She turned to the other side.
Back facing him.
Eyes still open.
Her Mind:
This house was mine.
This bed. This silence.
But now the silence isn’t quiet.
It’s holding too much.
A man I shouldn’t be thinking about…
And another I never thought I’d notice.
Tomorrow will come.
But tonight?
I’m lying between what I touched…
And what I don’t dare to.

---

It's morning again, 6:30 am,
It was still early.
Sunday silence.
No traffic noise. No college van horn. Just the fan moving slow and the smell of milk catching the bottom of the vessel.

My eyes were sticky. I didn’t even wash my face. Just tied my hair into a bun, pulled the nightie under my breasts properly, and switched on the stove. Tea time.
Two tumblers. One for me. One for Kartik. Strong, no sugar.

Kids were inside the room, dead asleep.
One was sleeping sideways with his mouth open. The other had pulled the blanket over his own face.
I checked once, didn’t bother again.

Kartik came out, scratching his chest like usual.

I didn’t even look up from the stove.

“Go get mutton. Shop will be crowded if you go late.”

He didn’t reply. Still yawning. Still in his shorts. Moving like some cow.

“Don’t come back with old meat. Go now. Take wallet.”

He nodded like a mute goat, took his purse and stepped out. Forgot his tea too.

Door closed. That soft, sweet silence. Only the fan and the tea bubbling in the background.

I stood there, holding the spoon inside the vessel, letting the steam hit my face.

Then I turned slightly.

And I saw him.

Arjun.

Sleeping in the hall. On the mattress near the TV. One pillow under his head. One leg outside the blanket.

Hair messy. Chest moving slow. One hand on his stomach. The other behind his head.

And the blanket?

Up.

Like a full tent.

I didn’t blink.

I knew what it was.

That cock.

That morning cock.

Pushing up the cloth like it had a job to do.

The trackpants were soft. That light cotton type. Grey colour. The cloth was hugging the shape of it. I could see the full outline. From the root to the tip.

That thing wasn’t small.

That thing wasn’t soft either.

It was big. Thick. Standing. Ready.

I stood there for one second.

Then two.

Then three.

I wasn’t blinking. My breath slowed. My nightie was stuck between my thighs. I didn’t even care.

His cock moved once. A slight twitch.

My nipples rubbed against the inside of my cloth.

I pressed my thighs together. Tight.

That shape. That curve. That pulse.

God. That’s a real cock. Not like the one that slips in and finishes before I even warm up.

Arjun shifted a little. His hip moved.

The blanket moved too.

The cock shape came clearer. That print was not hiding anything.

The mouth was open. He was still asleep. But his body was full-on awake.

I leaned against the corner wall. One hand on my waist. The other hanging loose.

Just watching.

No shame.

Just heat.

There was a small spot of wetness near the top of his pants. Maybe precum. Maybe sweat. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

My cunt gave one slow throb.

It was awake.

I was breathing like I had climbed three floors.

I wanted to stay there. Watch it twitch again. Maybe move a little closer.

But he moved.

Hand scratching his chest. Face turned a little.

One eye opened.

Shit.

I stepped back. Fast but silent.

Back into the kitchen.

Stove was still on. Tea bubbling.

I stirred it once. My hand was shaking slightly.

I wiped my palm on the side of my nightie.

Tried to breathe normal.

I didn’t look back.

Then I picked up the tumbler. Poured the tea. Wiped the bottom. Placed the spoon inside it.

Waited.

Then walked again.

This time with the tumbler in my hand.

Soft steps.

I stood at the edge of the hall.

He was awake now.

Sitting up. Hands rubbing his eyes. Hair still messy.

T-shirt half pulled up. Trackpant loose on his hip.

That cock? Not standing anymore.

But still there.

Still big.

Soft now. But fat.

It sat heavy inside that cloth. Not hidden. Just… resting.

My eyes went down once. Then back up.

His face looked at me.

I pretended like I hadn’t seen anything.

Like I didn’t just stand near the kitchen wall for five minutes staring at his cock like a pervert.

I held the tumbler steady.

Looked him in the eye.

And said—

“Tea?”

---

He looked up at me, still blinking.

“Do you want tea?” I asked.

He rubbed his face once, cleared his throat. “Yes anni... I’ll brush first.”

His voice was soft. That respectful, careful tone. Like he wasn’t sure if he could even say yes.

He stood up slowly.

And I noticed it again.

He tried to keep the t-shirt hanging low, pulling it slightly forward while walking. I knew why.

That cock.

It was still half-hard. Not like before. But not gone either.

It sat inside his pants like a thick tube, heavy and full, probably still warm from sleep. The cloth clung. The shape was clear. He adjusted once, casually. Not bold. Just subtle.

But I saw it.

And I didn’t react. Didn’t look directly.

I stayed by the sofa, holding the tumbler like I didn’t notice anything.

He walked to the bathroom. Quiet steps. Door clicked shut.

Water sound. Tap on. Toothbrush. Gargle. Spit.

I sat down. Sofa cushion warm from the fan.

I took a sip.

My thighs were still tight. Not from shame. Just that pulsing awareness that something real had passed through this room.

My mind was full. Full of the picture I had just seen. That blanket. That cock under it. The way he tried to hide it now. Like I hadn’t already stared at it full view few minutes back.

My Mind:

So respectful outside. But that thing inside your pants has no manners.

I smiled into the tumbler.

He came back.

Face washed. Hair dripping. Small trail of water near his neck. T-shirt still crushed from sleep.

He didn’t sit beside me.

He sat at the other end of the sofa. Like the sofa had a line in the middle. His corner. My corner.

He sat slow. Calm.

Didn’t speak first.

Didn’t stretch.

Didn’t slouch.

Just folded one leg under the other and looked down at the floor.

I was still holding the tumbler. Not sipping now.

Then I leaned forward a little and offered it.

“Here. Hot.”

He looked up once.

Then again.

Then took it with both hands.

“Thanks, anni.”

That word again. Made my spine tickle.

Anni.

But the way he said it.

Soft.

Careful.

Like he respected me... but was still seeing something he hadn’t seen before.

He took a sip.

Then held the tumbler near his mouth.

Didn’t drink more.

Just holding it.

His eyes weren’t looking at me directly. But once, just once, they dropped.

To my lap.

My nightie had folded slightly at the side when I sat. The cloth had stuck to my thigh. Fan was blowing lightly.

He saw.

Then looked away.

Fast.

Like he’d touched something by mistake.

But I saw that one second.

That drop in his eyes.

He saw skin.

Maybe the curve under my nightie. Maybe the dip near my chest.

But he didn’t stare.

And I didn’t pull my cloth.

Let him see.

Respect doesn’t mean blindness.

And curiosity is not a crime.

I took one more sip from my cup.

Then I asked, casual tone, eyes on the floor—

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes anni... very well. Mattress was soft. I didn’t even hear the clock strike.”

“You didn’t snore.”

“Hope I didn’t move too much.”

“You were lying like a statue.”

He smiled. Looked down again.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Why would you disturb me?”

He shook his head. “Just... new place. I slept too deep.”

“Good. You needed that.”

Pause.

Just fan sound now.

He looked at his tumbler.

I looked at his fingers.

Veins showing slightly.

Strong hands.

Maybe from gym. Or just youth.

Then he said—

“Tea is really nice, anni. Better than anything I’ve had in months.”

I smiled without showing teeth.

“No sugar.”

“I like it like that.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Sips.

Silence.

Then I said—

“You know where your office is?”

“Yes anni. I checked last night. I saved it in Maps also.”

“First day tomorrow?”

“Yes. 8:30. But they asked me to come by 8.”

“You have all your documents?”

“Yes anni. I kept the folder inside my bag.”

“Dress code?”

“Formal shirt. Tucked. Black pants. Shoes. All packed.”

“Good. You seem ready.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

He looked at me.

Proper this time.

And said—

“You make this place feel easy. Like I can settle without trying too hard.”

I didn’t answer.

That line sat somewhere under my ribcage.

And I didn’t want to break it.

He sipped again. Then placed the tumbler on the table. Still half full.

He leaned back slightly. But not relaxed.

Hands on knees.

Eyes forward.

Safe boy pose.

But once again... his eyes dropped.

To my leg.

Then back up.

Quick.

He didn’t even mean to do it.

But his eyes were searching.

I let them.

I didn’t cross my legs.

Didn’t fold my arms.

I stayed as I was.

Because I wanted to be seen.

Then—

“Mummyyyyyyyyy!”

Voice from the bedroom.

Loud.

Next one followed immediately—

“Mummyyyyyy where are you?”

Feet hitting floor.

One boy crying.

Other one shouting.

“Mummy I want milk!”

I stood up.

“Coming!”

---

The kids came running.

Hair like birds, eyes half-closed, one sock each, both shouting different things at once.

“Mummy I want milk! Hungry “

“Mummy where is my sharpener!”

I handled both.

Lifted the smaller one onto my lap, wiped his face with my nightie end. Pulled out the crayon box from under the cot. Gave one Marie biscuit each.

Morning circus, like always.

I didn’t look at Arjun during that time.

He got up, took his tumbler, walked to the sink, washed it without being told.

Didn’t talk too much. Just smiled once when the younger one bumped into him.

“Sorry chithappa,” the kid said.

He laughed and patted his head.

“Be careful. You’ll fall.”

Respectful tone.

Not forcing himself into the scene.

Just... there.

Kartik came back with the mutton packet.

Sweating. Shirt sticking near the armpits.

“You came on time,” I said.

He dropped the bag on the counter. “All good pieces. Thala curry also.”

I opened the packet, checked the cut. Good.

I started prepping.

Chopped onion. Tomato. Ginger garlic paste. Arjun passed the turmeric when I asked. Didn’t say anything extra.

Kartik sat with the newspaper. Kids were drawing rockets on the floor with their crayons.

Just like any Sunday.

Only difference—one extra person.

But it didn’t feel crowded.

It didn’t feel awkward.

Arjun didn’t behave like a guest. But also didn’t act like owner. He found a balance.

He even helped set the table when I asked.

“Take the plates,” I said.

He nodded, “Okay anni.”

That voice. That word.

Every time he said it, something in my stomach tightened. Not romantic. Just real.

Like he was placing me in a position without even trying.

Lunch came and went.

Good curry smell filled the house.

Sweat ran down my back while cooking, but I didn’t mind. I liked the routine.

After lunch, everyone settled.

Kartik lay down inside with the fan on full speed.

Kids were watching some cartoon.

Arjun was on his phone, scrolling something with his leg stretched on the hall mattress.

I wiped the kitchen counter, checked the rice box, and refilled the sugar tin.

I walked past him once.

He didn’t look up.

Or maybe he did when I wasn’t looking.

Evening passed slow.

TV shows.

One ad after another.

I sat on the corner of the sofa, peeled carrots for next day.

Kids were fighting about one pen cap.

Arjun helped the younger one find it under the sofa.

He looked at me once.

I looked back.

Just two seconds.

No smile.

No stare.

Just… existing.

After dinner, same thing.

Kartik burped and switched off the kitchen light. Kids brushed and fell asleep quickly.

Arjun washed his plate, wiped it.

Didn’t leave anything for me to scold him about.

I changed into my nightie.

Didn’t wear a bra.

Didn’t fold my dupatta.

Didn’t care.

I checked on the kids one last time, turned the fan to low, kissed both on the forehead.

Kartik was already half snoring.

I lay down.

Pulled the blanket up to my chest.

Eyes were open.

My body was still. But my mind?

Was somewhere in the hall.

On that mattress.

On that cock I saw in the morning.

I didn’t touch myself.

I just stayed still.

Monday morning came fast.

Fan still spinning.

Kids rubbing eyes. One shoe missing. Kartik had already left. Early branch meeting.

He kissed my forehead lightly before going.

Didn’t touch anywhere else.

I packed lunch.

Boiled eggs.

One for each boy. One for Arjun.

He came out in full formal shirt and pants.

Black belt. Hair set neatly. Watch on wrist.

He looked… adult.

Not boy.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes anni. If there’s time.”

I poured. He drank. Standing near the sink.

“You look ready,” I said.

He smiled. “Let’s see if the job is ready for me.”

I handed him the bag. Gave him the ID envelope Kartik had kept on the shelf.

“Don’t miss the bus.”

“I’ll drop the kids on the way.”

“Be careful. No speeding.”

He nodded. “I’ll message once I reach.”

I nodded back.

The boys came out, one still dragging the other’s bag.

“Mummyyy he took my sticker book!”

“Take your bottle,” I said. “And don’t fight in the van.”

Arjun took the bag from the younger one’s hand and held it.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He looked at me one last time.

“Bye anni.”

I nodded. “All the best.”

He left.

I stood near the door for a second.

Then walked back inside.

Stillness again.

I washed one tumbler.

Sat down.

Took a slow breath.

And somewhere near the gate, behind the grill...

The security guy was watching.

Eyes low. Chin lifted slightly. Just that quiet stare.

I didn’t see him.

But he was watching.

[yazhiniram]

I didn’t go in right away.

My hand was on the grill, but my eyes were on him.

That man.

The one sitting at the gate like a statue with cheap sunglasses and half-buttoned shirt.

Security.

Middle-aged. Balding slightly. One slipper torn at the side. Radio always hanging from his neck but never working.

And eyes?

Always busy.

Every time I stepped out, every single time, his eyes had some job. Sometimes on my feet. Sometimes chest. Sometimes backside when I walk away.

I stood there for two seconds.

He was pretending to look away. Acting like he was watching the kids in the flat opposite.

But I saw.

I saw him seeing.

So I walked toward him.

Slow steps. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just real.

He noticed.

Sat straighter. Legs uncrossed. Hand on his knee.

Still didn’t look directly.

I stopped two feet from him.

He looked up.

Tried to act confused.

I didn’t waste time.

“You’ll never stop, right?”

He blinked.

“Ma’am?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I—”

“You look every single day. Like you’re paid to stare.”

“No, ma’am... I was just—”

“What? Looking at the wall? Or my bra strap?”

His face went red.

He looked down.

I folded my arms across my chest. Not to hide anything. Just to show I wasn’t scared.

“You’ve been doing it for days. I’ve seen it. You think women don’t notice when your eyes crawl over them?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to get caught. That’s all.”

He scratched his chin. “Sorry ma’am... I just—”

“You just what?”

“I was not staring intentionally…”

I laughed. Just once.

That bitter one.

“Men like you always say the same thing. Not intentional. Not your fault. Not staring. But your eyes will peel off a woman’s clothes in three seconds.”

“I didn’t... I just saw—”

“You saw what?”

His mouth stayed open.

I looked him up and down once.

“Do you think I don’t know when someone’s eyes are sliding across my chest?”

Silence.

“Next time I catch you, I’ll complain.”

“No ma’am, please. Don’t. I have family... I won’t do again.”

I nodded once.

“Don’t do it again. Keep your eyes where they belong. On the gate. Not on my blouse.”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.”

I turned.

Walked away.

But inside?

That heat didn’t die.

Not from anger.

But from something else.

Something dirtier.

Because the truth?

I liked it.

I hated him for it. But I liked the way he looked.

Not because I liked him.

But because it meant I was still wanted.

Still seen.

Even in a sweaty nightie. Even with tired eyes. Even with milk stain on my shoulder.

That look told me—my body still speaks.

I entered the house.

Closed the door.

Leaning against the wooden frame, I let out a slow breath.

My hand touched the curve of my waist. Lightly.

My own skin felt warm.

I moved inside.

Kitchen was clean.

Plates done. Lunch packed. House quiet.

No Kartik. No Arjun. No kids.

Just me.

And this silence.

I washed my hands. Wiped the counter. Opened the bathroom door.

Heat came out.

I poured hot water into the bucket. Steam rising.

Fan still spinning in the hall.

I walked into the bedroom.

Unhooked my bra.

Dropped it.

Lifted my nightie.

Panties down.

That cloth was damp.

Not from washing.

From me.

My own wetness.

I stepped into the bathroom.

Mirror fogged slightly.

I looked.

My body.

My skin.

The curve of my stomach. The weight of my breasts. The small hair near my hip.

Real.

Alive.

I took the mug.

Poured.

Hot water hit my shoulder.

Rolled down.

Neck to chest. Over nipple. Over stomach.

I leaned forward. Let it pour across my back.

One more mug.

Over ass.

Inside thighs.

I exhaled.

Rubbed soap slowly.

Arm. Armpit. Neck. Breast.

Other breast.

Soap on nipple. I rubbed once.

Felt it harden.

Didn’t stop.

Rubbed my hip. Side. Back.

Then thighs.

But didn’t go in between yet.

Let the heat build.

Water dripping from my chin.

Hair wet.

Eyes closed.

My breathing was quiet, but heavy.

I poured again. Over stomach. Let it flow down.

Over the line of hair between my legs.

That heat...

One more mug.

One more pour.

I bent slightly.

Let it hit the center.

That ache woke up again.

That slow burn.

Just as I reached for the last mug...

DING DONG.

Bell.

Loud.

I froze.

Water still running down.

---

Water still sliding down my leg.

Last mug still in my hand.

I turned my head, looked at the bathroom door.

Waited.

Silence.

Maybe wrong bell? Maybe neighbor?

I poured the last mug. Quick rinse. No touching. Just wash and finish.

Then—

DING DONG.

Again.

Sharp. Loud.

Faster this time.

I muttered under my breath.

“Oh what the hell now...”

I stepped out, dripping wet.

My hair was sticking to my back. Water running into my ass crack. My thighs were wet and my nipples were poking out hard from the cold water.

I grabbed the same old nightie from the hook.

Pulled it over.

The cloth stuck immediately.

Shit.

Soaked body + thin cloth = full view show.

My nipples were pressing through. The curve of my stomach. Even the triangle between my legs was visible through the material.

Cloth stuck like second skin.

I checked the hall.

No time to dry properly.

I grabbed the small towel from the window bar. The one I use for face wipe.

Pressed it over my chest.

Held it tight with one hand.

DING DONG.

Third time.

I rushed to the door.

Barefoot.

One hand holding towel over my breasts. The other turned the latch.

I didn’t open it wide.

Just pulled it slightly.

Pushed my head out.

Hair still wet. Drops falling from chin.

Eyes still sharp from the bath.

And there he was.

Security.

Same man.

Same shirt.

Same guilty face.

Holding a folded paper in his hand.

His eyes dropped the second I opened the door.

He saw.

Even though I was covered with the towel, he saw the wet nightie underneath. The shape of everything.

He looked up fast.

But too late.

His eyes had already taken the tour.

I didn’t say anything yet.

He held out the paper like a scared collegeboy.

“Ma’am... electric bill came...”

---

His hand was holding the bill.

But his eyes?

That one quick drop said everything.

He didn’t come to stare. But he stared.

I had opened the door just enough to lean my head out.
Hair dripping. Chin wet.
Towel pressed across my chest.
Old cotton nightie soaked and clinging to every curve.

No way to hide anything.

And he was standing there like someone pressed pause on his brain.

“Ma’am… electric bill,” he said.

Voice soft. Shaky.

I didn’t touch the paper.

I didn’t move.

I just looked at him.

Hard.

“You can't wait two minutes, ah?”

He blinked. “Ma’am?”

“You rang the bell thrice, no? Can’t stand still for one damn minute?”

“I… I didn’t know anyone was inside, ma’am.”

“Even if no one’s there, will door open by magic? You’ll press till someone falls down?”

“I just thought…”

“You didn’t think anything. That’s your problem.”

He tried to look away.

But I saw that moment—his eyes catching the spot where the towel didn’t fully cover.

The wet patch between my breasts. A hint of skin showing.

His throat moved.

Swallowed.

I leaned just slightly toward him.

“You saw what you weren’t supposed to.”

“No ma’am… I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean. But still your eyes go full speed.”

“Sorry ma’am. I didn’t realise you were bathing.”

“You don’t need to realise. You just need to stop pressing the bell like a madman.”

He looked at the floor.

Didn’t speak.

“I opened because I thought it’s important. But here you are. Standing. Eyes rolling.”

“No ma’am. It was not like that. I just saw you by mistake.”

“Hah.”

I smiled.

Dry one.

“Your eyes always make mistakes when a woman’s towel slips half an inch?”

“No ma’am, please…”

I took the bill from his hand.

Slow.

Our fingers didn’t touch. But close.

“Don’t worry. You got what you didn’t ask for.”

“I really wasn’t trying to—”

“But you looked.”

He nodded. Quiet.

“Not the first time either, is it?”

“No, ma’am. I mean… yes ma’am. I won’t look again.”

“You think cloth hides everything when it’s wet?”

“No ma’am.”

“Then next time… press once. Wait. Or better, leave the bill near the grill and walk.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Before your eyes earn you a slap one day.”

He didn’t argue.

Just stepped back.

Turned around.

Walked slow.

Quiet.

Like he wanted to disappear.

I shut the door.

Calm.

Didn’t slam.

Just clicked it closed and stood there.

Towel slipping now.

One edge fell to the side.

I caught it lazily.

But inside?

I was smiling.

Not because he saw.

But because I let him know that I saw him seeing.

That power. That little shame in his eyes. That heat.

All mine.

I walked to the bedroom.

Dropped the towel.

Nightie was clinging too much now.

Pulled it off. Let it fall to the floor with a wet slap.

Stood there.

Naked.

Skin wet. Fresh.

Body awake.

I wiped down slow.

Neck.

Arms.

Under each breast.

Between my thighs.

One wipe across the back. Soft pressure on the spine.

Then powder.

Dabbed on collarbone. Under boobs. Stomach.

Opened the blouse drawer.

Picked a rust red one.

Hooked it at the back.

Tight fit. No bra.

Let the breasts sit free.

Then a soft cotton saree.

Light cream.

Tied it low.

Hip knot snug.

Pleats pressed deep.

Tucked in proper.

Pallu over shoulder.

Didn’t pin it.

Let it drop.

Hair still wet.

I dragged fingers through it.

Pulled it to one side.

Looked in the mirror.

Didn’t pose.

Just checked.

Blouse sitting perfect.

Waist clean.

Eyes sharp.

Smile?

Small.

Just enough.


—

---

The sun was boiling even at 11.

Floor tiles hot.

Fan on full inside the house, but my throat still felt like burning.

Summer had come like a slap this year.

I opened the fridge—no curd.

Only one half tomato, some old podi, and a stale lime.

I tied the pallu proper, adjusted the hip tuck, and stepped out.

Plain saree. Thin cotton.
No innerwear.

My body had just started sweating again.

Felt the blouse sticking to the side of my chest as I walked down.

Steps were hot. I took each one slow.

Down the corridor, I could already see the security sitting in his usual chair.

But this time?

His head was fully down.

Like he was examining the floor tile for cracks.

I passed him.

Didn’t say a word.

His eyes didn’t rise.

Not even a glance.

Shame still hanging on his neck like ID card.

Good.

I didn’t look back.

Walked straight to the shop.

Got one packet of curd. Thick type.

Held it under my arm like old aunty style.

Started walking back.

The curd packet was cold under my arm.

Sweat dripping from the back of my neck into the blouse.

The cotton saree stuck between my thighs as I walked back. Fan wasn’t going to fix this kind of heat.

Security was still in his corner chair, same position.

Elbows on knees. Head down. Trying to act invisible.

I slowed down when I reached the gate.

He didn’t lift his face.

Just kept scribbling something on the edge of a newspaper. Like he was writing Ramayanam in rough.

I stood two steps away.

Let my slipper slap the cement twice.

He looked up.

Fast.

Then down again.

Too late.

“Ey,” I said. Voice low but sharp.

No response.

“Look at me.”

He slowly lifted his eyes.

Not fully. Just a scared glance.

“Why are you acting like a collegeboy after PT period?”

“No ma’am.”

“No ma’am what?”

“I... I was just doing duty.”

“Your duty includes pressing bell twice for wet shows?”

He blinked. His mouth opened, then closed.

“Ma’am... I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean but you saw.”

He nodded like a thief caught with coin in hand.

“You saw too much this morning, right?”

“No ma’am, I just came for the bill…”

“You came for the bill, but left with full cinema. Interval, climax, everything.”

He stayed quiet.

I smiled.

“You want me to wash and come out again?”

“No ma’am, sorry. I really didn’t—”

“Didn’t stare?”

He stayed quiet.

I tilted my head, curd packet still under one arm, the other hand resting on my hip.

“Be honest. What did you see?”

He looked scared. “I... I saw by mistake... towel was... and nightie...”

“Oh, now you’re describing it?”

“No ma’am! Not like that—”

“Then what? My towel opened itself and invited you in?”

“No ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“Hmmm.”

I took one step closer.

His body moved back like he was expecting a slap.

“You know what you saw?”

He shook his head slowly.

I leaned a little.

“That wet line between my breasts? The nipple poking through the cloth? That hip curve where my nightie stuck? You saw all that.”

He shut his eyes for one second.

As if the images came back.

Good.

“That’s not your eyes’ fault. It’s your hunger.”

“No ma’am... I’m a married man—”

“So? Married men don’t look?”

“No, ma’am. I mean... I respect you.”

I laughed.

“Respect ah? You were ready to swallow me whole with your eyes.”

“No ma’am...”

“You pressed the bell twice like you wanted a second round.”

“I didn’t know you were bathing.”

“You could’ve waited.”

“I’ll never do it again.”

“You won’t get another chance.”

He stayed silent.

I adjusted my pallu once.

His eyes moved slightly. Then fixed back on the ground.

“You’re not lucky, you know that?”

He looked up, unsure.

“Men like you get one second of heaven, then carry it in your pants for a week.”

“I didn’t... I won’t... I mean... sorry ma’am.”

“You better be.”

I stepped back.

“Now go drink some buttermilk. Might cool your thoughts.”

He nodded.

Didn’t even say “yes ma’am” this time.

I turned around.

Started walking toward the building.

Back wet. Pallu clinging to my ass.

I didn’t fix it.

Let it stay.

Felt his eyes on me.

But he didn’t dare look up again.

Good.

Pressed the lift button.

Waited.


—

[yazhiniram]

Lift number was blinking slow. One more floor to reach.

My blouse was sticking to my back. Curved wet patch spreading.
Curd packet in my hand. Thighs rubbing. Sweat running like stream from the valley between them.

Then I heard it.

That lazy slipper sound.

Rhythm like rain on broken roof.

Raj.

I didn’t turn. Just stood.

Let the sweat do its job.

He came up beside me. Slow steps. Like his body knew its own weight.

Chest wet. Hair damp. T-shirt had sweat patches under both arms. Neck shiny.

He looked like heat was eating him alive.

He gave a small smile.

Not forced. Just... there.

“Lift taking its own sweet time,” he said.

I nodded. “Even the machine is tired of summer.”

He gave a dry chuckle. Wiped his forehead with his T-shirt edge. That one move pulled the fabric up—belly showed for a second. Line of hair under the navel. Clean skin.

I looked once.

Fast.

Then away.

He looked at the curd in my hand.

“Shopping?”

“Just this. Want to make buttermilk.”

“Best thing for this heat,” he said, shifting the bottle in his hand.

I don’t know why I said it. It just came.

“You want some?”

He turned his head slowly.

His eyes touched my cheek.

Not wide-eyed. Not surprised.

Just still.

Like he was waiting to see if I’d say it again.

I realised what I said.

My throat went dry.

But I didn’t take it back.

“Too much for me alone,” I added. Soft.

Silence for two seconds.

Then the lift dinged.

His floor came.

The door opened.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even glance at it.

He looked forward.

Then down at the floor number.

Then at me again.

Said quietly—

“I’ll come.”

Just that.

I said nothing.

Just stepped into the lift when our floor came.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t nod.

But inside?

My breath wasn’t normal.

His steps followed.

Same rhythm.

Same weight.

I walked ahead.

My saree was hugging now. Wet at the hip. Pallu half-stuck to my lower back.

Pleats swinging with each step.

I didn’t fix it.

I didn’t check.

I just let it move.

Let my hips move how they want.

Let the sway be natural.

Because I knew.

I could feel it.

He was watching.

From behind.

Watching my ass bounce slightly under the cotton folds.

Watching how the blouse pressed on my spine.

Watching like he’d waited a long time to.


—

---

The latch clicked open. I pushed the door gently.

Didn’t rush.

One hand holding the curd packet.

The other wiping sweat from my upper lip.

He followed me in.

Didn’t speak. Just entered, closing the mesh door behind him.

I didn’t close the main door.

That’s not how it works here.

Third person inside? Door stays half open. Always.

He stood near the entrance for a second, looking around.

Like he was double-checking if he really stepped in.

I didn’t look at him directly.

But I was smiling.

Inside.

Small one.

Body was aware.

More than my face.

I placed the curd on the dining table.

Said without turning, “Fan’s on, you can sit.”

He stepped forward.

Calm walk. That usual soft rhythm.

Sat on the edge of the sofa, not leaning back.

“Feels better inside,” he said.

I turned. “You want me to make it colder than this?”

He smiled. “That’s your department.”

I clicked the fan knob to full. Pointed it straight at him.

“Sit back. You look like you just finished road repair.”

He chuckled once. Rubbed his face with his hand towel.

His neck had fresh sweat. Drops still sliding near the collarbone.

I walked over. Switched on the TV. News channel.

Then turned slightly, holding out the remote.

As I did—pallu slipped.

Didn’t fall.

But the end slid off my shoulder and rested near my elbow.

Left side of my blouse now fully showing. Wet cloth. No lining.

His eyes?

They looked.

One soft second.

Not staring.

Just… soaking.

I saw it.

He didn’t say anything.

Just took the remote from my hand.

Fingers brushed.

His thumb was warm.

Little rough.

That small contact went straight through my wrist.

“Here,” I said, voice casual.

He took it.

Held it with both hands.

Didn’t change the channel.

Just stared at the screen like he was watching it for real.

I smiled inside again.

He didn’t even know the volume was muted.

I walked back to the curd.

“Hope you don’t mind thick curd,” I said.

He replied, “Better than watery ones.”

“I didn’t ask about curd quality,” I teased.

He looked up. “Then?”

“I asked if you can handle it.”

He smiled.

Then looked at the TV again.

I lifted the curd packet, held it up.

“You sure? It’ll chill you down.”

He answered without looking.

“Let it.”

I walked to the kitchen.

Pallu still hanging loose.

Didn’t fix it yet.

Let it sway behind.

His eyes were probably still on it.

On me.

On the blouse that now stuck to my waist with sweat.

I didn’t rush.

My fingers were already itching from the inside.

But my face?

Still calm.

Just another hot day.

With just another glass of buttermilk to make.


—

---

The buttermilk swirled smooth in the steel glass.

Salt. Jeera powder. One slit green chilli. Curry leaves.

I stirred it with a spoon, slow.

My fingers cold from the water jug.

I could hear the TV sound in the hall now.

He was switching channels like someone testing patience.

Click. Ad. Click. Serial. Click. Sports.

No anchor louder than the fan.

I poured the second glass, set mine aside, and wiped my hands.

Walked out.

He was sitting back now—legs apart, remote in hand, towel around neck.

He looked relaxed. Like a man at his own place.

Still watching the screen.

I came around the side of the sofa.

Held the glass in front of him.

He turned.

His hand brushed mine while taking it.

“Looks deadly,” he said.

“Drink first. Praise later.”

He smiled, nodded, and took a sip.

His eyes closed slightly as the cold hit his throat.

He leaned back, let out a breath.

“Exactly what I needed,” he said.

“I know.”

I sat down beside him.

Not close.

Not far either.

There was a pillow between us.

The kind that doesn’t block heat.

He took another sip.

“I feel human again.”

“You looked half-dead when you entered.”

“I almost was.”

“Why didn’t you sit inside with fan at your place?”

“TV volume is louder here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you came for my speaker?”

“Speaker and buttermilk.”

“Hmm.”

I picked up my glass.

Took a small sip.

It tasted better now. Maybe because someone else was drinking it too.

He wiped his mouth.

“Your house is always clean.”

“Comes with the job title.”

“Housewife?”

“Manager.”

He smiled. “Noted.”

Few seconds passed.

No words.

Fan spinning above. TV sound low.

He flipped one more channel.

Music video.

I took another sip.

Then asked—

“Your work is easy today?”

“Not much. Filed a report. Two calls done.”

“Not missing AC office?”

“Missing your buttermilk more.”

I looked at him once.

Didn’t smile.

Just sipped again.

Let the silence sit.

He didn’t look at me. Still watching TV.

But I could feel it.

The space between us.

Small.

But hot.


—

---

I took the last sip of buttermilk. The glass still cold against my fingers. It wasn’t sweet or anything special—but that little sting of chilli and salt… it felt good. Real. My throat needed that.

Raj was still sipping his. Slow, like it had to last longer. His hand was resting on his thigh, glass close to his lips. Not looking at me. Not talking much. Just sitting there, like he belonged.

I looked at the steel glass in my hand, then at his. Time to clean up.

I got up.

He looked up just for a second. Not asking why. Just noticing.

I reached for his tumbler. He lifted it, handed it to me.

Our fingers touched again.

That soft brush. Barely there. But it felt like a pulse.

I held both tumblers in one hand, balanced it against my waist, turned toward the kitchen.

Then I heard it.

A small clink.

Not loud. But enough.

Turned slightly.

An ice cube. It had slipped out of his tumbler—probably clinging to the side, dropped when he tilted it.

It was lying near his slipper.

I clicked my tongue softly. “Tch…”

Bent down.

Right hand still holding the glasses. Left hand going toward the floor. My saree moved with me.

The moment I bent—my pallu slipped.

Not just a little.

The whole end of it slid off my shoulder, dragged slowly across my chest, and dropped down in front.

Not fallen to the floor—just hanging loose now.

My chest was covered only by my blouse.

Thin cotton. No lining. No bra. Damp from sweat.

Nothing open. But nothing hidden either.

The outline of my breasts. The curve in the middle. Every shape clearly visible under the cloth.

And I knew it.

Still bent. Still reaching.

My left hand moved slow toward the ice.

Right hand still holding the tumblers, slightly pressing against my stomach.

Then he moved.

Raj bent down beside me.

No sound. No question. Just there.

His knee touched the floor. He leaned forward.

Said softly, "Let me take it."

I paused. Didn’t reply.

My body wasn’t steady now.

He reached near my leg.

His arm brushed my thigh—barely. But fully.

The glassy cold floor met my toes.

I stepped back just a little—reflex.

But I forgot.

My pallu was hanging. Loose and long.

The end had dropped near my feet.

I stepped on it.

The cloth slipped under my sole.

My heel gave way.

Leg bent.

Body lurched forward.

The tumblers shook in my hand.

And I tipped.

Falling.

Right toward him.

He was still bent down.

My chest, fully forward.

Blouse pressing against my skin.

Pallu gone. Blouse tight. Sweat clinging.

My cleavage—deep, full, drawn under the thin blouse fabric—was now right above his face.

Not touched yet.

But almost.

About to.

Falling.

My balance gone.

His head just under me.

Breath stuck.

And we were frozen in that half-second before it all changed.

---

My body tipped forward.
Balance gone.
Pallu loose. Blouse damp. No support.
I fell.
Straight into him.
He was still kneeling, eyes half raised.
And then—
My boons hit his face.
Not brushed. Not touched.
Full contact.
Soft. Heavy. Damp from sweat.
Blouse pressed between his skin and mine. Nothing in between.
His face buried between them.
My tumblers dropped to the floor.
One rolled away, spinning.
His balance shifted too.
He fell back with me on top of him.
The mat under us rustled. Floor was hard. My knees hit.
His back thudded lightly against the tile.
Door still open. But neither of us moved.
His hands went around my back. Not grabbing. Just there.
I tried to push up.
My arm weak.
My chest still over his face.
His breath warm on my skin.
I whispered, breath shaky—
"I can’t… move."
He shifted.
One hand reached for my waist.
Slid gently along my hip.
Then he pressed.
Trying to lift me.
But my saree was twisted at the hip, tucked tight.
His palm couldn’t get enough grip.
I grunted, half-laughed through my throat.
"Wait... it’s stuck..."
He breathed once.
Then I felt it.
His other hand moved up.
Palm wide.
Firm.
Cupped my left breast.
Fully.
Fingers around the side. Thumb pressing the top.
Through the blouse—but no mercy.
It sank in slightly. Flesh yielding.
He pressed.
And pushed.
Lifted.
My chest rose. Body shifted.
I gasped.
Not pain. Just shock.
His breath caught too.
He whispered low—
"This is the only way I can move you."
My hand gripped his shoulder.
Still not fully up.
But my body was halfway lifted.
Breast still in his hand.
Chest still trembling.
And the door?
Still open.
Wind brushing the back of my knee.
We weren’t out of this yet.
But something had already changed.
And he hadn’t let go.

---

His hand was still holding my breast.
Fingers curved. Thumb pressing firm.
My whole body stiff.
And his other hand—still gripping my hip, holding my weight.
We were tangled.
Heat between us. Breath fast.
He shifted.
Bent his knees slightly, gathered strength.
Then—
he started lifting me.
Slowly.
My chest rising against his grip.
The breast in his palm pushed up slightly, flesh giving in, blouse straining.
His palm on my hip pressed harder for balance.
And as my legs started straightening, my body almost upright—
I felt it.
His hardness.
Down there.
Firm.
Pushing up against his pants.
Right where my thigh brushed him.
That rod, his cock.
Unmistakable.
Thick. Strong. Pressing.
I gasped quietly.
Didn’t say anything.
But my skin burned.
He didn’t react.
Didn’t explain.
Just held me steady.
And finally—
we stood.
Properly.
Both feet on the floor.
Chest still heavy. His hand slowly releasing from my breast.
Other hand loosened from my waist.
I staggered back half a step.
The door.
Wide open.
I turned fast.
My chest still uncovered. Pallu hanging loose at my side.
Blouse damp. Cleavage fully visible.
I didn’t care.
Not now.
I rushed to the door.
Feet loud on the floor.
Heart thudding in my ears.
Ran without fixing the pallu.
Everything visible.
But I had to close it.
Before anyone saw.
Before anything else slipped.
Click.
The latch slid into place.
And silence filled the flat again.