Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[Sage_69]

She want to fuck person she calls Anna. She fucks with person for whom she is Anni. She want to fuck with woman who is a close friend. She wants to tease and dirty things with a low class watchman. She never wants to open her legs to her husband and want him to sleep tight. She lost her chastity and touched dicks of three men without any guilt. What a good woman she is.

Man, this is an erotica site. What did you expect before opening an account here? And above all, these are just fantasies. Why are you getting so frustrated?

[opheliyaa]

Let Arjun fuck her in every room of the house and in night under open sky. Let prakash take upper hand and dominate her. right now all three are behaving like slaves

[yazhiniram]

She want to fuck person she calls Anna. She fucks with person for whom she is Anni. She want to fuck with woman who is a close friend. She wants to tease and dirty things with a low class watchman. She never wants to open her legs to her husband and want him to sleep tight. She lost her chastity and touched dicks of three men without any guilt. What a good woman she is.

Appreciate you taking time to read and comment—even if it’s harsh. That means the story made you feel something. Let me explain what I’m trying to show—

She was a good woman. And she still is. But no one cared about her body. Her needs. Her hunger. Not even her husband. Years passed in silence—no climax, no intimacy, just duty under the bedsheet. You think she’s alone? Go see the stats—more than one-third of Indian wives have never even felt orgasm. They just lie back, close eyes, and pretend. That’s not fiction. That’s truth.

One day her friend told her what it really means to feel. What she’s missing. That fire in the blood. That shake in the bones. After that, something broke. Quietly. Not because she became bad. But because she realised she was already buried alive.

And the men—yes, wrong ones. A neighbour. A watchman. Someone who calls her Anni. Someone she calls Anna. She didn’t plan it. But they made her feel seen. Desired. Alive. Not like a wife or a cook. Like a woman.

She still loves her family. Her husband. Her child. That’s why she hides it. She doesn’t want to break anything. But inside, she’s already breaking. This is her war—between lust and loyalty, guilt and hunger.

And you should know—this story is only from Pavitra’s point of view. I’m not showing what the others feel, or whether they’re good or cruel. Because that’s not the story. This is her truth. Her voice. Some will judge her. Some will understand. That’s real life. Nobody is perfect. I just want to show it real, raw, without filters.

Like Breaking Bad, it’s not about crime or sex. It’s about how a silence becomes a scream. Maybe she’ll stop. Maybe she’ll burn her whole world. But don’t call her names just because she stopped dying quietly

[sexypreeti]

Appreciate you taking time to read and comment—even if it’s harsh. That means the story made you feel something. Let me explain what I’m trying to show—

She was a good woman. And she still is. But no one cared about her body. Her needs. Her hunger. Not even her husband. Years passed in silence—no climax, no intimacy, just duty under the bedsheet. You think she’s alone? Go see the stats—more than one-third of Indian wives have never even felt orgasm. They just lie back, close eyes, and pretend. That’s not fiction. That’s truth.

One day her friend told her what it really means to feel. What she’s missing. That fire in the blood. That shake in the bones. After that, something broke. Quietly. Not because she became bad. But because she realised she was already buried alive.

And the men—yes, wrong ones. A neighbour. A watchman. Someone who calls her Anni. Someone she calls Anna. She didn’t plan it. But they made her feel seen. Desired. Alive. Not like a wife or a cook. Like a woman.

She still loves her family. Her husband. Her child. That’s why she hides it. She doesn’t want to break anything. But inside, she’s already breaking. This is her war—between lust and loyalty, guilt and hunger.

And you should know—this story is only from Pavitra’s point of view. I’m not showing what the others feel, or whether they’re good or cruel. Because that’s not the story. This is her truth. Her voice. Some will judge her. Some will understand. That’s real life. Nobody is perfect. I just want to show it real, raw, without filters.

Like Breaking Bad, it’s not about crime or sex. It’s about how a silence becomes a scream. Maybe she’ll stop. Maybe she’ll burn her whole world. But don’t call her names just because she stopped dying quietly

Very well explained 

[White Walker]

What a story ! Though I expected the encounter with Arjun would be more slow burning.
Please do carry on. Again amazing story.

[yazhiniram]

Billing counter was quiet.

Two dress, the tighter one and other one.

Folded neatly.

Packed in a shiny white bag.

Anusha gave her card.

I looked at her once.

She smiled.

Tight smile.

I asked, "I asked why are you, buying tighter one?"

She said, “No. It’s for you.”

I blinked.

“What?”

She turned her head toward me.

Eyes calm.

Bright.

Serious.

“You’re my only friend, Pavi.”

My throat went still.

I didn’t answer for one second.

Then I looked down.

At the bag.

At her fingers holding it.

Then back at her face.

She wasn’t joking.

She meant it.

The heat that came into my chest that second?

It wasn’t from the AC.

It was something else.

Something proud.

Something tender.

I didn’t argue again.

I just nodded.

And smiled.

That small type of smile that holds too much.


--------------------------------------------------------


Auto ride back.

We sat close again.

No space between.

Her hip was pressed to mine.

My saree was thick, cotton.

Her chudi was thin.

Soft.

Our thighs brushed slightly with every speed bump.

Her shoulder rested against mine for a few seconds.

Then moved.

Then came back again.

We didn’t speak.

But we were breathing the same air.

And every time the wind came in from the side?

My braid lifted softly.

Touched her cheek.

She didn’t move away.

And I didn’t apologise.

I just smiled quietly to myself.


--------------------------------------------------------


We reached.

Paid.

Stepped out.

Sun was sharp again.

My slippers clicked gently on the tiles.

We walked toward the gate.

Prakash was standing there again.

Same post.

Same eyes.

I didn’t turn my face.

Didn’t greet.

But I felt him.

His eyes.

Sticking to my saree.

Dragging along my waist.

Climbing the pallu.

Stopping at my braid.

That filthy, quiet stare.

But I walked past him like wind.

Not even dust can touch me now.

Only inside?

One small voice laughed —

“Watch, dog. You’re time not today.”


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Lift door opened.

We stepped in.

She looked at me.

Softly.

Shy.

But bold.

“Come pavi, let’s go to my flat for five minutes.”

I didn’t even think.

Just said, “Okay.”

And stayed.


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Her flat was on the right side.

Same floor.

We walked in.

Her door opened.

Warm air inside.

Not fan.

Just that sweet, homely air.

The room smelled of rose perfume.

And washing powder.

Few soft cushions on the sofa.

A small blanket folded and kept near TV.

Her slippers slipped off with a soft sound.

She stepped in lightly.

I entered behind her.

Then she closed the door.

And turned the latch.

I paused.

Turned my head slightly.

She was right behind me.

Close.

I heard her breath.

Near my braid.

Then I felt it.


--------------------------------------------------------


Her hands touched my waist.

Then wrapped fully.

She hugged me from behind.

Tight.

Her chudi fabric pressed against my blouse.

I felt her full.

Her breasts against my back.

Soft.

Round.

They settled in perfectly, like puzzle.

Her stomach touched my waist.

Her thighs behind mine.

The heat of her skin passed through the layers.

I froze slightly.

But not out of fear.

Out of weight.

That silent weight of another body surrendering behind you.

Then…

She bent her face.

And pressed her lips on the back of my neck.


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It was slow.

Not loud.

Just one soft kiss.

Right on my sweaty neck — the spot where my braid had been resting all day.

Her lips were cool.

Then warm.

Then cool again.

I shivered.

Her mouth moved gently.

Pressed again.

Another kiss.

Just below the first one.

Her breath came hot between each kiss.

It touched my skin.

Made the tiny hairs on my nape stand.

My blouse shifted slightly.

The back neck was loose.

The braid moved a bit.

Swung to one side.

And her lips explored the open space left behind.

I didn’t move.

I just felt.


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My body reacted before my thoughts.

My breasts inside the bra tightened.

Nipples hard again.

Pressed against the blouse.

Painfully soft.

My thighs were clenching now.

Not wide.

Not open.

Just one slow pressure pulling inward.

My lips parted slightly.

Just to breathe.

My spine felt hot.

From neck to lower back.

Her hands were still around my waist.

Fingers pressing gently.

Possessive.

Like she didn’t want to let go.

But not rough.

Still innocent.

Still warm.


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Emotion came in strange ways.

A little pride.

That she wanted me.

A little guilt.

That I was letting her.

A little thrill.

That the door was locked.

And her body was fully behind mine.

Our hips aligned.

Her breasts resting softly against my back.

And my heart?

It had stopped beating normal.

It was pulsing in my ears.

In my breasts.

In that place deep inside.

Where sweat had already started collecting again.


--------------------------------------------------------


Her lips came lower now.

Almost near shoulder.

Still kissing.

Still slow.

Still breathy.

That moment was holding itself.

Not asking to move forward.

Just living there.

Between two bodies.

Two women.

Two silences.


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I turned slowly.

My braid slid over my shoulder.

The kisses had stopped now.

But the heat was still there — behind me, inside me.

When I faced her, she was already close.

Eyes lifted.

Face soft.

We stood chest-to-chest.

My blouse touched her chudi.

I could feel her breath on my lips.

We didn’t talk.

Just stood like that.

Her hand was still touching my waist.

I lifted mine.

Placed it slowly on her shoulder.

Then around her back.

I hugged her.

Gently.

Our bodies came full together.

Stomach to stomach.

Breast to breast.

I could feel her softness against mine.

I took one breath in.

It got stuck halfway.

She held tighter.

Then I asked softly, “Why are you doing this, Anusha?”


--------------------------------------------------------


She whispered.

Straight.

Honest.

“Your skin is soft, Pavi… I wanted to touch you.”

I smiled.

Laughed once under my breath.

“You too…”, I whispered.

Then I tilted my head, “But what you’ll get touching me? You should be touching your boyfriend, no?”

She smiled.

Eyes clear.

“I have boyfriend, Pavi,” she said, “but he’s not in Chennai…”

Her hand was still on my waist.

She added softly, “...or maybe he’s not this much soft.”

I laughed again.

Still holding her.

“Still… what would you get touching me?”

She looked down.

Then whispered, “I don’t know… I just want to touch.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“What’s in that touch?”

She didn’t answer for one second.

Then said, “No idea. Soft.”

Paused.

Then added, “After that temple queue… after touched your hip…. I couldn’t forget.”

I looked at her fully now.

“So now you want to touch and hug, ah?”

She smiled.

Nodded slowly.

Didn’t blink.

I let my hands drop to her waist.

Held her gently.

Then said softly…

“Fine. Come.”


--------------------------------------------------------


She stepped closer.

There was no gap now.

Only heat and breath.

Her right hand moved.

Touched my waistline.

I felt her fingers slowly sliding over the blouse border.

Then slipping under.

Cool touch.

Bare skin.

She pressed gently on my stomach.

Then circled her finger softly.

My navel caught her fingertip.

It twitched slightly.

Her finger dipped in.

Then out.

Playing softly.

I inhaled.

The blouse lifted slightly with her movement.

My saree pallu shifted, sliding off one side of my chest.

Her hand was still circling my navel.

I couldn’t speak.

My breath had changed — small, open gasps through my lips.

My thighs were closing slowly.

Clenching.

The panty inside was damp again.

My knees felt loose.

Her body was still full against mine.


--------------------------------------------------------


Then she leaned forward.

Tilted her head.

And placed one small kiss…

On my chin.

Her lips were warm.

Soft.

Wet.

The kiss was not strong.

Just enough to make me feel it.

I closed my eyes for one second.

And that moment?

That second?

I felt something strange.

Something slow.

A leak.

Inside the panty.

Not urine.

Not sweat.

It was that wetness.

That slow drip that only comes when the body is feeling too much.

I moaned softly.

Not even realising it came out.

Just one sound.

Like breath breaking.

She didn’t stop.


--------------------------------------------------------


She bent down.

Slow.

Very slow.

Her face came to my waist.

She moved the pallu to one side.

Pushed it gently.

Then touched her lips to my navel.

Direct.

Wet kiss.

Her mouth pressed deep.

She kissed it once.

Firmly.

Her lips stayed there.

Breathing.

The moist skin of her mouth made my stomach jump slightly.

My waist jerked.

Her nose brushed the bottom curve of my stomach.

Her hair touched my hips.

She was still holding my waist.

And my body?

Was giving up.

My legs softened.

My chest was rising too fast.

My hands were shaking a little.

My panty was soaked now.

My skin was full of sweat.

And inside my heart?

I was falling.

No thoughts.

No control.

Only heat.

Only ache.

Only this girl at my stomach.

Worshipping.

Owning.

Loving.


--------------------------------------------------------


Trriingggg...

My phone rang.


--------------------------------------------------------


The phone rang loud near the sofa.

My body jerked.

Anusha lifted her head from my navel, her hair brushing my stomach one last time.

I took a breath.

Picked up the phone with trembling fingers.

Kartik.

I cleared my throat once.

Answered.

“Haan?”

His voice came flat.

Courier had come.

My credit card renewed.

He gave the OTP fast, didn’t even ask how I was.

Then cut the call.

I stood there, blouse wet near my waist, my panty soaked with something that wasn’t just sweat.

My knees were still loose.

Anusha was looking at me from down, her eyes full.

Waiting.

Wanting.

But I had to go.


--------------------------------------------------------


I bent slightly.

Lifted her face with one hand.

Kissed her softly on her chin.

Her lips parted a little.

I whispered.

“You come and touch me whenever you want, okay?”

She didn’t speak.

Just nodded once.

Like a girl who got permission to sin.

I smiled.

Then pulled my pallu properly over my chest.

Tucked it once.

Adjusted my saree crease.

“I need to run down. Courier.”

She stepped back.

Still quiet.

I opened the door.

Walked out.


--------------------------------------------------------


Inside the lift, I leaned on the wall.

Closed my eyes for one second.

My navel was still wet from her kiss.

My panty was pressing damp between my thighs — the soft hair down there was sticky now.

I breathed in.

Shaky breath.

Anusha’s fingers…

Her lips…

That kiss on my stomach…

It had set a fire.

Not outside.

Inside.

A slow burn.

A curl of heat sitting deep in my lower belly.

And it was not going away.

“I need something to turn this off now…” I told myself.

But what?

Anusha can’t finish what she starts.

And Arjun?

He’s not home.

Not now.

My thighs rubbed softly as I stood.

I pressed my back to the lift wall.

Closed my eyes again.

Tried to think of something clean.

But all I could feel was her mouth on my skin.

My breath was still not steady.

My heart?

It was beating wrong.

Not in chest.

But low.

Between.

Like something was begging.

Whispering.


--------------------------------------------------------


The lift opened.

Ground floor.

I stepped out.

Cool air hit my face.

I walked toward the security gate slowly.

Looked around.

No Prakash.

Just one courier boy in blue.

Thin moustache.

I asked.

“Is any courier came for in the name of kartik?”

He nodded.

He handed the cover.

I checked.

Yes.

Bank seal.

He showed the app screen.

“OTP, madam.”

I typed the 6-digit code Kartik gave.

Beep.

Done.

He thanked.

Started walking out.

I turned slowly.

But something in my eyes caught the side.


--------------------------------------------------------


Electric room.

The door was half-open.

Light was on inside.

I paused.

Just looked.

And inside…

Prakash.

Wires in his hand.

Box open.

Screwdriver hanging from his lips.

Sweat on his neck.

He didn’t see me.

He was busy doing something.

Fixing.

Bending.

I just stood there.

Watching.

Then a voice inside my body whispered.

That same slow voice that came in temple queue.

“What if…”

My hand gripped the card tighter.

I looked around.

Left.

Right.

Nobody.

I missed the small black camera near pillar.

I took a slow breath.

Then stepped toward the electric room.

One step.

Two.

Three.

The floor was warm.

My petticoat string shifted on my waist with each step.

My chest was breathing different.

My fingers were shaking slightly.

But not from fear.

From that unfinished kiss.

From that unburnt fire.

From that queen’s hunger that no one knows about.


--------------------------------------------------------


I stepped inside.

Cooler air.

Dusty smell.

Machine sound.

Prakash still had his back to me.

I looked at him once.

Then turned.

Held the door.

And closed it.

Softly.

Then slowly turned the latch.

Locked.

Silence.

Just me.

And my dog.


--------------------------------------------------------


The electric room smelled of dust and old wires.

Warm inside.

Not suffocating… just that stale, sweaty air.

I stepped in fully.

The door clicked behind me.

My slippers scratched the floor — dry, gritty.

Prakash’s back was facing me.

Bent near the meter box.

His shirt was loose and sweaty — wet patch under the arms, brown collar.]

He hadn’t seen me yet.

He was busy, like a dog digging in some garbage hole.

I held the courier envelope.

Stepped closer.

There was a small concrete shelf under the sealed window.

I placed the envelope down softly.

My fingers were trembling.

But not from fear.

My chest was breathing harder now.

Not loud.

But deep.

I looked at his backside once more.

Then without thinking…

Without warning…

I reached forward.

Between his legs.


--------------------------------------------------------


My hand slid right between his thighs.

From behind.

His pants were loose — thin fabric, dirty cotton.

I pressed my fingers.

Direct.

Right on that spot.

That thick, fat thing.

I felt it under the cloth.

My fingertips pressed deep.

It was heavy.

Soft.

But not small.

Wide.

That round shape came fully under my palm.

It was hot.

Like it was breathing.

The cloth was damp.

I pressed once more.

Just to feel the whole weight.

Then—

His body jerked violently.


--------------------------------------------------------


“Arrey!” he shouted, twisting.

His whole body jumped forward like someone shocked him.

And me?

I lost balance.

His backside hit my front.

My hip slid backward.

My foot slipped slightly on the dust.

And—

I fell.


--------------------------------------------------------


First my elbow hit the floor.

Hard.

A small scratch.

Then my back landed — right over the dusty tiles.

Thud.

My saree pleats spread wide, opening like a fan under me.

The fall pulled my pallu down over my stomach.

My blouse lifted slightly from the back.

My butt hit hard.

Dust came up in small clouds around me.

I gasped.

More shocked than hurt.

The petticoat got twisted.

My whole hip was open and exposed in that sitting position.

One thigh bent.

The other stretched out.

I could feel the floor heat through the saree.

The sweat on my spine mixed with the dirt now.

I sat there.

Blinking.

Breathing heavy.

The elbow pain was sharp, but not serious.

My ego?

Burning.


--------------------------------------------------------


I looked up at him.

Still squatting near the meters, looking confused.

I shouted.

Loud.

From the ground.

“Are you mad or what?!”

He turned.

Eyes big.

I pointed at my saree.

“See! My whole saree got dirty now!”

He stepped forward nervously.

I didn’t let him talk.

“Why you jumped like electric shock hit you?”

“No control on body also now? I thought only eyes are the problem”

“My back is full dust now, idiot!”

“You don’t know who’s behind you?”

“If you jump like this in bedroom, your wife will run away!”

He stood frozen.

Hands by his side.

I rubbed my elbow.

Still sitting.

“You’re worse than my washing machine!”

“Seriously! How are you even working in this society?”

He bent slightly.

“Tch… sorry madam… you okay?”

I ignored his sorry.

Held my hand out.

He bent down.

Held my wrist.


--------------------------------------------------------


His palm was thick and hot.

Rough fingers.

Dry calluses.

But his grip was strong.

He pulled me up slowly.

My saree rubbed against his leg as I stood.

My blouse was still slightly lifted in the back.

His touch didn’t shake me.

But my thighs felt something again.

Some deep pulse from earlier.

I brushed off the dust from my butt, petticoat, and pleats.

Angrily.

Looked down at my hip.

“Shit, full red mark now,” I muttered.

Still scolding, I turned to him again.

“Why the hell you jerked like that?!”

He scratched his head.

Looked nervous.

“Madam… just noting all flat electricity meter counts,” he mumbled.

“Part of duty… daily record.”

I stared at him.

He looked small now.

Ugly.

Shirt was filthy.

Pants stained.

Face oily.

Hair dry and stiff.

But something about it...

That filth…

That sweat…

That powerless dog energy…

It made something inside me twitch.

A low, dirty hunger that had no manners.

No logic.

Just heat.

And memory.

Of lips on my skin.

Of thighs burning for relief.

Of my queen-throne waiting to be claimed.


--------------------------------------------------------


His eyes were still on me.

That same dirty stare.

Even after I had shouted. Even after I had fallen like a fool and scratched my elbow.

Still staring.

My back was aching slightly now — from that fall. Some dust had slipped inside my blouse too, itching near the hooks. My pleats were loose. My ass was still stinging where it had hit the floor.

But my eyes?

Burning.

That fire came back inside me. The same temple fire. The same one from the tank. The one that doesn’t cool down with bath or soap or saree change.

Only one thing can cool it.

I stepped close to him. No shame. No pause.

Just rage.

Just power.


--------------------------------------------------------


My hips brushed the side of the metal board. My saree pallu was half fallen from my shoulder, my waist was still dusty, but I didn’t fix anything.

He was looking down now — maybe to escape my eyes. Maybe to hide his guilt. I didn’t care.

I stepped in closer.

Right into his space.

The gap between us melted.

His chest was only two fingers from my shoulder.

His breath came hot — I could feel it hitting just below my neck.

I raised my face slightly.

Then said it.

Straight.

Dirty.


--------------------------------------------------------


“Why did you stare at me when I was walking with my neighbour?”

No reply.

I moved one step closer — our hips brushed once.

Still he kept quiet.

I tilted my head.

“Next time I catch you staring like that — I’ll pull out your eyes and feed them to pigs. You want that?”

His whole body flinched.

Good.


--------------------------------------------------------


I didn’t move away. My hand was still near my waist. Saree crease half untucked from the fall, my petticoat string had become a little loose.

But my face?

Still tight.

I asked again, slower this time — voice low like poison.

“Tell me… anyone will come inside?”

He cleared his throat, eyes still avoiding mine.

“No, madam… only for staff. No kids, no residents.”

I licked my bottom lip slowly. My mouth was dry, but my body was wet inside. Between my breasts, under my arms, behind my knees — the sweat was creeping again.

I raised my eyebrow.

“Any staff?”

He said quick:

“No madam. I’m the only one inside. Nobody going to come”


--------------------------------------------------------


I smiled.

Soft.

But not sweet.

That queen smile.

The one that comes when I know no one can stop me.

And then — I grabbed his dick.


--------------------------------------------------------


Straight.

From front.

My full palm.

Over the dirty fabric of his pants — thick, soft cotton — my fingers pushed in deep. Right on it.

That disgusting cock.

That same black snake that ruined me on the terrace.

Now in my hand again.

And I squeezed it.

Hard.


--------------------------------------------------------


His body twitched.

A soft moan escaped his lips.

He tried to bite it back.

But I heard.

That sound wasn’t pain.

It was pleasure.

I twisted it once — my wrist turning sharp, the dick under the cloth bending slightly.

My fingers couldn’t close properly — the size was too big. Even through the pants, it was fat and heavy. I could feel the heat, the shape, the pulse.

It was alive.

It was waiting.

And it was mine again.


--------------------------------------------------------


I leaned forward — my mouth near his ear now.

My chest brushed his upper arm softly.

My saree blouse was still slightly loose from the back, and I could feel the strap biting into my shoulder.

But I didn’t care.

I whispered into his skin:

“Tell me,.. did you fuck your wife with my face in your head?”

His mouth opened.

But only breath came out.

Then he forced it.

“No madam…”

My grip tightened.

My lips touched his earlobe slightly when I asked next:

“Why not?”

His body shifted once — I felt his thigh move. But he didn’t pull away.

He just whispered, like a small boy caught stealing:

“I… I can’t remove you from my mind…”


--------------------------------------------------------


I laughed.

Not softly.

Low.

Cruel.

Dirty laugh.

The kind that tastes good in throat.

Then — without warning — I slapped him.


--------------------------------------------------------


CHHATT!

My right palm hit his cheek flat. The sound echoed in that small electric room. My hand stung slightly — dry sweat sticking on his skin.

His head turned from the impact.

But he didn’t protest.

Didn’t speak.

I raised my hand again.

“Tell me properly. How many times you masturbated thinking of me?”

He looked down.

No answer.

Another slap.

CHHHATTT!!

Louder this time. My ring made a soft cut on his jawline. His body jerked. His eyes closed tight.

Still no answer.


--------------------------------------------------------


I smiled wider now.

Dirty satisfaction pouring inside me.

My hand was still holding his cock.

Still gripping.

Still squeezing.

That thing was growing under my fingers now — getting harder, fatter, bolder.

But his voice?

Still quiet.

So I said coldly — sharp like blade:

“Useless… shameless… no guts to answer to me?”


--------------------------------------------------------


The air between us was full heat now.

My armpits were wet. My blouse strap had soaked through. My inner thigh was rubbing softly with every breath. The crease of my panty was sticky now — damp from standing like this, sweating in rage.

The dust from floor had climbed to my calves.

My ass still stung from the fall.

But my body?

Ready.

I looked at his face.

Still down.

Then I whispered, with queen calm:

“It’s too hot here.”

I untucked my pallu once.

Fixed my pleats.

Adjusted my hip string.

Then looked into his eyes.

“Go to the terrace.”

My voice dropped now — dangerous soft.

“I want to teach you some good habits.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Why Madam?” immediately after my anger look.

"Okay Madam."


--------------------------------------------------------


We didn’t move yet.

My hand was still near his crotch.

The heat inside that small electric room had wrapped around both of us like a dirty blanket. Wires on the wall. Dust on the floor. My saree still sticking to my back.

And me?

Still holding dog by the leash.

[opheliyaa]

Very good. Second session at terrace. This time more bold.

[Sage_69]

Let him suck her cunt.

[Nandhu4]

Niceee

[Hotyyhard]

excellent update bro

[sexypreeti]

Superb. Simply outstanding as always  clp); clp); clp);

[Deepak Sanjeev]

Very nice

[Vidhi Valiyathu]

hot and happening

[jiivajothii]

superb

[val.coutinho]

Yazhiniram
Really nice and erotic update.... You really are bringing the hot slut out of Pavi ahe loves to control Prakash and make him her toy whenever she finds him in ackward postion.... Specially when they are alone...... I just hope this upcoming terrace encounter is the hottest amongst all the encounters Pavi has had till now.....
Eagerly waiting for the next update

[sexypreeti]

Yazhiniram
Really nice and erotic update.... You really are bringing the hot slut out of Pavi ahe loves to control Prakash and make him her toy whenever she finds him in ackward postion.... Specially when they are alone...... I just hope this upcoming terrace encounter is the hottest amongst all the encounters Pavi has had till now.....
Eagerly waiting for the next update

I am sure this is exactly what all of us are waiting for now...the suspense to unfold... :)

[Hotyyhard]

hope bro give Sunday hot update by chance ;)

[yazhiniram]

I stepped back.

One soft heel twist on the dusty floor. My saree shifted with me — pleats dragging slightly across my thigh. My ass still stung from the fall, the skin under the blouse itching with sweat and grit. I didn’t look at him. Not one glance.

I just bent — slow, controlled — picked up the courier envelope from the corner shelf.

It was still warm from my hand earlier. Still clean. Unlike me.

My back straightened. I didn’t brush the dust off my hip. Let it stay. Let it mark.


-----------------------------------------------


Then I walked toward the door.

Each step slow.

Measured.

My sandals scratched the tile softly. I could feel his body behind me — following. Not touching. Not breathing loud. But there. Shadowing.

My hand touched the latch.

I paused for one second.

Then said it — not turning back, not smiling, just voice cutting sharp and low:

“I’ll go first. You follow after me. Keep the terrace open. Wait there.”


-----------------------------------------------


I didn’t wait for his reply.

I knew he’d obey.

Dogs like him don’t need a second word.

I unlocked the latch.

Pushed the door out softly.

Stepped into the corridor.

Didn’t look back.


-----------------------------------------------


What I didn’t see — above the doorframe, near the junction box — was the small black dome camera. Covered in dust. Quiet. Watching.

The red light blinked once.

Recording.

But I didn’t notice.

I couldn’t.

Because my chest was burning hotter than my mind now.

The fire in my body was louder than my brain.

My nipples were stiff under the blouse.

My panty wet and sticking.

And my hand… my hand still felt the shape of his cock.

I walked out like a queen who didn’t care who saw.

Like nothing touched me.

Even though I was burning from inside.


-----------------------------------------------


The sunlight hit me from the right side.

Bright.

White.

Hot.

The cotton of my red saree immediately began sticking again to my back. The blouse had already gone damp near the spine. I pulled the saree pleats tighter near my waist, adjusted the pallu over my left breast, then walked.

Head high.

Like nothing happened.

Like I hadn’t just twisted a man’s cock in the electric room and slapped his face like a cheap bastard.


-----------------------------------------------


The lift button felt cold against my finger.

I pressed 7.

Waited.

The corridor was empty. My envelope was in one hand. My saree pleats in the other.

But inside?

My panty was wet.

Still.


-----------------------------------------------


Not normal wet.

Not sweat-wet.

This was thick. This was that lazy, post-touch wet. That leftover heat from domination. From holding him. From slapping him. From hearing his voice whisper like slave.

I clenched my thighs slightly.

But the moisture spread again.

Front side… all the way to the band.

It was sticking to the curls there.

I didn’t shift my leg.

I just took a long, slow breath.

The lift arrived.


-----------------------------------------------


I stepped in.

Pressed “7.”

The walls were clean metal. My reflection showed clearly in the side panel — red saree, pallu neat, hair pulled tight in braid. But I could see it.

My nipples.

They were stiff.

Pointed under the blouse.

Even with padded bra, the shape had come.

I didn’t press them down.

Let them show.


-----------------------------------------------


Seventh floor.

I stepped out.

Walked fast.

House door open. I entered. Quiet.

Dropped the envelope on the corner shelf.

Didn’t even look where.

My heart was still fast.

My mouth dry.

But my eyes — burning.

I pulled the pleats once more, tucked them tighter.

Pressed the knot of the petticoat string.

Then I turned.

Walked straight to the lift again.


-----------------------------------------------


Pressed “UP.”

The button glowed red.

My breath was sharp now.

Not scared breath.

Hungry.

Like something inside was still boiling.

I needed to finish what I started.


-----------------------------------------------


The lift came — not from top, but from below.

Ground floor maybe.

It opened.

And there — already inside — was him.

And another man.

Some worker.

Prakash’s head lowered when he saw me.

The other man turned his face immediately — some older fellow, looked like plumber or cleaning boy.

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

I stepped in.


-----------------------------------------------


Three of us inside.

Hot air.

Sweat smell.

But I didn’t move back.

I stood proud.

His hand was holding the key.

I didn’t speak.

I could hear his breath — small, tight.

Like he was trying not to show.


-----------------------------------------------


10th floor.

The other man stepped out.

Now only me and my slave.

The lift started moving again.

No talking.

Only breathing.

My thigh shifted once — the damp cloth of my panty rubbed softly against that place.

I closed my eyes one second.

Let the ache settle.


-----------------------------------------------


12th floor.

Walked towards the terrace using stairs.

He opened the latch.

Soft click.

Sunlight blasted in.

Terrace.

That same open space — sky wide above, cement heat below.

I walked out first.

The wind slapped my braid back.

My pallu danced a little.

The air was hotter than morning now.

But I didn’t flinch.

He came behind.

Closed the door.

Clicked the lock.

We were alone.


-----------------------------------------------


I turned to him.

Voice calm.

Face clear.

Hand pointing.

“Go check the tank. Which one has no water, and clean, find it”

No questions.

He nodded.

Ran toward checking it.

And I stood there.

Queen on the terrace again.

Ready to burn.


-----------------------------------------------


He was running.

Like a dog I had whistled for.

His old sandals slapped the concrete with each step, moving tank to tank — checking, peeking in, tapping lids like he was searching for a throne I’d allow him to serve at.

His shirt stuck to his back — sweat patch spreading like oil. The sun wasn’t even harsh today, but he was burning. From inside. I could see it.

He returned in less than two minutes.

Panting.

Chest heaving.

“Madam…” he said, voice short, catching breath. “Fifth block tank… little water left. But clean.”

I didn’t smile.

I just stepped forward.

And said calmly — like a queen entering her temple:

“I’ll go in first.”


-----------------------------------------------


The ladder was rusted — metal blackened with time. But it held firm under my foot.

My saree clung to my legs as I lifted one thigh… then the next.

The petticoat tightened on my hips — each step made the knot press into my waist harder. The red pleats rode up gently with every climb. I felt the back hem shift — grazing my thigh, brushing under me.

As I reached the top, my hips twisted once — the saree pleats lifting slightly, teasing more than I allowed. But I didn’t pull it down.

Let him see.

Let him follow.

Let him feel what it means to obey.

I climbed down into the tank — barefoot.

First foot touched water.

It was warm. Silent. Still.

The ripples spread gently from my skin.

Water came till my calves — not too cold, not too hot. Just right to remind me where I was.

The tank air smelled of cement. A little iron. And something cleaner — like this space was untouched by dirt, untouched by men.

I stood straight.

Inside this dark blue tank — concrete above, open sky behind the ladder — I felt calm.

Not cool.

But calm.

The heat was inside me now — not outside. The petticoat clung between my thighs. Saree was wet till knee. My blouse stuck between the shoulder blades. One drop ran down my spine.

I didn’t wipe it.

Let it travel.


-----------------------------------------------


He entered.

One hand on the ladder. Then two.

His feet came down carefully — like he knew whose presence he was disturbing.

I didn’t wait.

Didn’t turn fully.

The moment he stepped down — both feet touching water — I moved.

One step.

Then another.

And then I turned, faced him.

And caught it.


-----------------------------------------------


My hand slid forward fast — straight onto the bulge under his pants.

No softness.

No delay.

Full palm grab.

That thing was alive. Hot. Already swelling.

The cloth was thin — maybe too thin for a man like him.

My fingers dug into it, twisted slightly. I could feel the full weight, the shape, the pressure building inside.

His body stiffened.

But didn’t step back.

I looked at him. Right in his filthy, silent face.

“Tell me…” I said, voice sharp, low, dangerous. “What was in your mind when you followed me up here?”

He blinked.

Didn’t speak immediately.

I pressed my grip tighter. The bulge twitched under my fingers — his breath caught.

Then finally, he muttered:

“You… you called me, madam… so I came.”


-----------------------------------------------


I leaned forward slightly — not sweetly. Like a whisper with a blade behind it.

“Only because I called?” I hissed. “Or because your cock was dying to see me wet again?”

His mouth opened.

But I didn’t wait for answer.

I twisted my hand harder — a slow, dirty turn that made his hips shift once.

Then I lifted my palm.

And slapped him.


-----------------------------------------------


Not on cheek. On pride.

CHHHT!

Flat. Firm.

My fingers didn’t leave a red mark, but his soul would carry that sting.

His eyes shut tight. But he didn’t move.

Didn’t protest.


-----------------------------------------------


I stepped even closer.

My chest was almost touching him now — the saree between, wet, clinging to both of us.

“From day one, I told you not to stare, no?” I spat.

My voice wasn’t loud.

It was full.

Full of power.

Full of memory.

“Bloody useless…” I whispered, letting my words slide over his chest like my palm had done seconds ago. “Shameless…”


-----------------------------------------------


And in that silence — that hot, wet, tank silence — I could feel it again.

My own breath.

My own pulse.

The way the water moved around my calves with each shift.

The way my panty was pressing harder now.

My body was remembering.

And this dog?

He was standing still.

Waiting.

Obeying.

Mine.


-----------------------------------------------


He was standing in front of me like waste.

Not talking.

Not blinking.

Just standing.

That stupid dog face of his — caught between guilt and horniness.


-----------------------------------------------


His hands were down. His pants were wet. That black shirt sticking under his arms like glue.

And me?

I was inside the tank.

Water just below my calves.

My foot was planted on the concrete floor — small layer of dirt still floating in one corner. I didn’t care.


-----------------------------------------------


My blouse had soaked fully. Hook part was sticking between my shoulder blades. I could feel my own sweat moving down, trapped between the hooks and my spine.

The saree had pulled up from below.

My petticoat was wet all the way till my thighs.

The knot was pressing my belly tight. Panty had stuck between the lips now. I didn’t adjust it.

My braid was stuck to one side of my neck like dead weight. I didn’t move it.


-----------------------------------------------


Because my hand was busy.

I was holding his cock through the pant.

My full palm.

Pressed hard.

That cock was not soft now.


-----------------------------------------------


It was already half hard.

Thick.

Wide.

Pushing against the fabric like it wanted to fight me.

The pant was cheap material.


-----------------------------------------------


Fully wet now.

Sticky.

My fingers were digging into it, squeezing the full bulge from underneath.

I twisted it once.

Just to show him who’s in control.


-----------------------------------------------


It bent under my palm.

And he groaned.

That dirty, soft groan. Like he was trying not to moan. Like it was leaking out without his permission.

I looked straight in his face.

Then slapped him.


-----------------------------------------------


Right cheek.

My fingers hit flat.

CHHHHT!

His head turned.

His jaw moved slightly.


-----------------------------------------------


His eyes shut for one second.

Then opened again.

Red eyes.

Wet lips.

Still not talking.


-----------------------------------------------


His hands didn’t move. He stood there like a statue.

I pressed my palm deeper.

My thumb pushed down on the base of his cock through the cloth.

I could feel the whole curve of it now.

That snake inside the pant — growing thicker.


-----------------------------------------------


Then I said it.

Clear voice.

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t act innocent. You think you can keep staring at me and get away with it?”

He didn’t speak.

He just nodded slowly.


-----------------------------------------------


Like child who got caught stealing coins.

His eyes dropped down — didn’t even try to look at my face.

I didn’t release him.

My grip got harder.

The cock was pulsing now.


-----------------------------------------------


Twitching inside.

Growing slowly.

I moved my hand slightly upward — still over the pant — and held the mid part of the cock.

It was heavy.

Getting harder with each second.


-----------------------------------------------


The cloth had pulled tight over the head now.

I could feel the cock head pressing out against the fabric — one perfect round shape rubbing under my fingers.

I stepped closer.

My chest was near his shirt now.

My breath touched his neck.


-----------------------------------------------


I leaned near his cheek.

My lips were close to his ear.

My voice came low.

“You thought… if you stare long enough… you can fuck me in your dreams, ah?”

His whole body flinched once.


-----------------------------------------------


Cock jumped in my hand.

It jerked straight up once, like it was answering me.

I felt the tip swelling now.

Pushing forward against my palm.

Pant was soaked there.


-----------------------------------------------


Either sweat or precum — I didn’t care.

That heat was coming through the cloth now.

I could feel the skin of his cock through that cheap cotton — like it was naked under my hand.

I didn’t move back.

I didn’t let go.


-----------------------------------------------


I watched him.

And then slapped him again.

CHHHAAT!

Left cheek.

Sharper than before.


-----------------------------------------------


His mouth opened slightly — not in pain — just shock.

But no words came.

I pulled my hand away slowly.

That cock was fully standing now.

Straight under the pant.


-----------------------------------------------


Pointing forward like weapon.

The cloth was hugging it tightly.

It was so big now, I could see the full outline clearly — the head shape, the dick curve, the fat base near his balls.

I looked in his eyes.

Didn’t blink.


-----------------------------------------------


Didn’t smile.

I just said:

”Remove.”

That one word.

And he obeyed.


-----------------------------------------------


His hands went to shirt.

He started unbuttoning — slowly, fingers shaking.

One.

Two.

Three.


-----------------------------------------------


The shirt opened.

Inside was sweat.

Full wet chest.

Curly black hair stuck to his skin.

Some drops were sliding down from neck to belly.


-----------------------------------------------


He pulled the shirt off his shoulders.

That shirt was half stiff from dried sweat, half soaked from new sweat.

It fell on the water edge. Sank a little.

His nipples were dark brown, flat.

Chest hair was thick in middle, thin on sides.


-----------------------------------------------


Some strands were flat with water. Some were stuck together in sweat lines.

His stomach was out.

Little belly.

With hair leading downward.

He didn’t look up.


-----------------------------------------------


Now his hands went to pant.

Opened the button.

Pulled down the zip.

It made that rough sound — zrrrk.

The pant dropped.


-----------------------------------------------


Down to his ankles.

He stepped out.

Now only one cloth left.

That dirty old underwear.

Loose.


-----------------------------------------------


Half torn elastic.

Pale brown colour — some yellow stain in front.

I looked at it.

Then narrowed my eyes.

“You want me to come and remove that also, ah?”


-----------------------------------------------


He didn’t wait.

He bent down fast.

Pulled the underwear down in one panicked move.

Didn’t even care if I was watching.

Just obeyed.


-----------------------------------------------


That cock came out.

And stood.

Thick.

Black.

Ugly.


-----------------------------------------------


Big.

That’s the only word I had now.

Big.

The base had jungle.

Hair fully grown. Not trimmed. Not cleaned.


-----------------------------------------------


Sweat was sitting between the strands.

One white flake of dry skin stuck near the root.

His balls were hanging — low, wrinkled, like sack full of stones.

The skin there was rough.

Not smooth like young boy.


-----------------------------------------------


This was man skin.

Animal skin.

The cock was thick.

Two big veins running from base to top.

One on left side, twisting like rope.


-----------------------------------------------


The head of the cock?

Huge.

Dark maroon colour.

Almost black.

Wide.


-----------------------------------------------


Flat from top.

And leaking.

One drop already there — stuck to the slit.

Slowly sliding down.

That thing looked used.


-----------------------------------------------


Worn.

But strong.

Biggest cock I had seen in real life .

Bigger than Arjun.

Bigger than my husband’s daydreams.


-----------------------------------------------


This was not pretty.

This was raw.

And my body?

It reacted.

My lips parted slightly.


-----------------------------------------------


My mouth became wet.

Saliva came full.

I didn’t even know when it started.

I closed my mouth quickly.

But it had already filled.


-----------------------------------------------


I tasted it.

My chest moved slowly.

I didn’t move my hand.

Didn’t lift my leg.

Didn’t speak.


-----------------------------------------------


I just watched it.

That dirty cock.

Standing fully in front of me.

Alive.

Ugly.


-----------------------------------------------


And hard.

And I was just staring at it.

Not touching.

Just watching.


-----------------------------------------------


Water touching just below my calves.

Still tank.

Still silence.

But inside me?

Fire.

The red saree had pulled heavy between my legs.

Petticoat knot was biting into my waist.

My panty had gone soft — soaked from inside.


-----------------------------------------------


He was standing in front of me.

Completely naked.

No shame.

That black dick hanging between his legs — thick, long, ugly.

It was not even hard properly.

But it was full.

Fat.

Alive.


-----------------------------------------------


The skin was dry in some places.

Sweat had dried and left dirty white flakes on the middle.

Near the root, there was more hair — curly, wiry.

One small clump of hair had stuck to the left side of his balls.

His balls were hanging loose — skin wrinkled and wet.

And that dick?

Veins bulging across, one thick one twisting under.

Tip half covered, but pink head visible.

And disgusting.


-----------------------------------------------


I bent a little forward.

Pulled spit up from my throat.

Didn’t think.

Just spat.


-----------------------------------------------


It landed right on the centre of his cock.

Big thick spit.

It stuck on top, then slid down slow.

Over the skin.

Across the rough patches.

Dripped down and curled around his balls.


-----------------------------------------------


I watched it.

Every second.

The way my saliva travelled across his filthy dick.

Cleaning it.

Claiming it.


-----------------------------------------------


Then I laughed.

One sharp sound.

It came from my chest.

From deep.

Disgust mixed with something else.

Power.

Like my spit proved he was mine.


-----------------------------------------------


“Turn around.”

I said it like an order.

Not a request.

He turned.

No talking.

Only backside now.


-----------------------------------------------


His back was broad.

Muscles under the skin.

Hair covering from shoulder to ass.

The cheeks were dark.

Wide.

Full.

Hairy.

Sweaty.


-----------------------------------------------


I spat again.

Full mouth.

Direct on his ass.

My spit landed with sound — phatt.

Wet.

Slow.

I watched it roll down his crack.

Over his hairy hole.

Toward his thighs.


-----------------------------------------------


I didn’t move.

I just kept breathing.

Watching my own spit stain his backside.

The smell of water, sweat, and wet cotton was all around me.

Still I was burning.


-----------------------------------------------


My thoughts started spinning.

The chillness of the tank…

His dick…

And that kiss Anusha gave me, just 30 minutes back.

Right on my navel.

That kiss didn’t go.

It stayed.


-----------------------------------------------


Last night with Arjun was soft.

Loving.

But I didn’t cum.

Not properly.

Not from fucking.

My pussy was aching still.

Unsatisfied.

Unbroken.


-----------------------------------------------


Do I want it now?

Rough?

Full?

From this filthy dog?

Can he make me break?

My mind said no.

But my body?

Already begging.


-----------------------------------------------


I walked to the front again.

Faced him.

Looked at that dick.

Still hanging.

Still wet with my spit.

It had grown now.

Little thicker.

Head more open.

Shiny from my saliva.

Black skin glistening.

Veins showing full.


-----------------------------------------------


I didn’t blink.

I just reached.

Held it.

Full hand.

Palm under.

Fingers wrapping.

Couldn’t close full — too thick.


-----------------------------------------------


The cock was hot.

Slippery.

My spit had mixed with his sweat.

My fingers rubbed the top — crusty flakes coming off.

One patch under the head had dried white skin — dirty.


-----------------------------------------------


I rubbed slow.

Firm.

Not to make him moan.

To clean him.

Like a filthy utensil.


-----------------------------------------------


My thumb dragged down the middle vein.

I felt the skin shift.

I pressed the nail under one dirty spot — scratched.

That dry skin rolled into paste.

Mixed with my saliva.


-----------------------------------------------


I rubbed harder.

From base to tip.

Tip to root.

My wrist was bending.

My palm was wet now.

The spit was working as lube.

Thick and slippery.


-----------------------------------------------


One clump of hair stuck between my fingers.

I pulled it off.

Flicked it into the water.

My hand didn’t stop.

Still rubbing.

Still pressing.

Still owning.


-----------------------------------------------


My blouse was soaked.

Chest sticky.

Nipples hard inside the bra.

The cotton was clinging.

My panty had stuck deep between the lips.

Every time I shifted, I could feel it rub.


-----------------------------------------------


But I didn’t stop.

My fingers slid under the balls — touched the edge of his sack.

Soft skin.

Loose.

Wet.

Sweaty.

I pulled back.

Came back to the cock.


-----------------------------------------------


The head was more exposed now.

My thumb rubbed it once.

Top was soft.

But one patch was rough — old skin.

I scratched it again.

Peeled off the crust.

Watched it float in the water.


-----------------------------------------------


His cock was dark.

Alive.

Smelly.

But clean now.

The sweat was off.

The flakes gone.

The skin under was shining.


-----------------------------------------------


And my hand?

Still holding it.

Wet.

Tired.

Dirty.

But satisfied.

I looked at that dick.

Watched the filth melt away.

One rub at a time.

[Muthiah Sivaraman]

Arjun is also a wimp like her husband and did not satisfy her and give her orgasm. This big cock is going to do wonders inside this woman and make her beg for it. He will soon fuck her in every room of her house making her scream.

[sexypreeti]

Very nice as always... clp);

Please proof read once more before posting because quite a few lines have repeated...It suddenly feels like a disconnect... Just my thoughts...