Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Ravi focused on chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife steady and grounding, filling the kitchen with a quiet cadence that matched their breathing.
 
Their elbows brushed once.
 
Neither reacted.
 
Then again.
 
Still no withdrawal.
 
The kitchen felt warmer now, not from the stove, but from shared space, from the quiet acceptance of closeness.
 
Ravi glanced at her hands, dusted with flour, strong and gentle all at once, capable, intimate in their familiarity. There was something deeply affecting in watching her work without self-consciousness, in seeing how naturally her body knew what to do.
 
“You do this without thinking,” he said softly, almost to himself.
 
She smiled.
 
“Some things become instinct.”
 
He nodded, understanding more than she had said, understanding that instinct came from repetition, and trust.
 
Their hands reached for the same bowl.
 
This time, the touch lingered.
 
Her fingers rested lightly against his knuckles, the contact unhurried, unmistakable. His hand adjusted, not away, but closer, as though guided by something quieter than thought.
 
They both paused, aware of the choice unfolding between them, suspended in that fraction of a second where everything could still change.
 
Neither moved back.
 
Priya’s smile deepened, just a fraction. Ravi’s breath slowed, his body responding before his mind could interfere, before caution could step in.
 
When the dough was ready, Priya went to the sink, turning on the tap. Flour clung stubbornly to her fingers, caught in the fine lines of her skin.
 
The warmth of her hands seemed to hold the essence of the kitchen, heat, scent, familiarity.
 
Steam rose from the stove. The fan hummed softly above them. Everything else seemed to quiet, as though the world outside had paused.
 
“You go first,” she said casually, shifting to make space.
“It takes time to wash this off.”
 
Ravi stepped forward, standing close, closer than necessary.
 
Their arms brushed. Their shoulders aligned. He could feel the quiet pulse of energy between them, the kind that exists only when two people occupy the same space with awareness, neither willing to move too quickly, neither wanting to move away.
 
“She’s standing so close,” Ravi thought. “I can feel the warmth of her just beside me.”
It was almost magnetic. “Why does everything feel different now?” His pulse quickened, yet beneath it was a strange calm, a steadiness that surprised him.
 
The proximity was no longer something to fear.
It was a comfort.

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[shailu4ever]

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As Ravi washed his hands, the cool water slid over his skin, a sharp contrast to the memory of her warmth. The sound of water filled the sink, steady, enclosing, intimate.
 
He reached for the soap, the lather forming slowly, slick and smooth, coating his palms, the act suddenly deliberate, almost ceremonial.
 
He was acutely aware of her behind him, how close she stood, how her breath shifted when he shifted, how the air between them felt charged, responsive.
 
He noticed the small adjustments in her posture, the way she stayed near yet careful, as though she too felt something unfolding but wasn’t ready to name it.
 
He finished rinsing his hands, droplets sliding down his wrists, and as he reached for the towel, Priya moved forward. She reached for the tap,
 
And he gently caught her hand.
 
Not pulling.
Just holding.
 
The moment her skin met his again, Ravi felt it fully this time. Her hand was warm, softer than he expected, the faint texture of flour still clinging to her fingers. Water beaded over both of their skins, blurring where he ended and she began.
 
“What are we doing?” Priya thought, her heart leaping, heat blooming low in her chest. “Why does it feel like this is something I’ve been waiting for, without even realizing it?” The steady pressure of his fingers grounded her, his touch warm, present, undeniable.
 
To Ravi, her hand felt alive, responsive, trusting. The water ran over her knuckles, over the place where his thumb rested, and he became intensely aware of how carefully he was holding her, how instinctively gentle his grip had become.
 
It was soft, yet carried quiet strength. No rush. No expectation. Just the simple fact of his hands holding hers.
 
She stilled.
 
Her breath caught as the weight of the moment settled, gentle and real.
 
Ravi moved slowly, almost reverently, stepping behind her. He reached around, his left hand slipping to take her other hand, closing both of hers in his.
 
There was something deeply gentle in the gesture, a recognition, a care that went beyond touch. To him, it felt like permission, like being trusted with something fragile and precious.
 
“Let me,” he murmured, the words brushing her like a caress.
 
Priya didn’t answer.
 
She closed her eyes.
 
The world blurred, the sound of water, the rhythm of their breathing. The space between them filled with something unspoken, undeniable.

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[shailu4ever]

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Priya Didi could feel his body behind hers, solid, present, never demanding. The warmth of him radiated against her back like a slow, spreading wave, anchoring her, giving her permission to let go.
 
His hands guided hers beneath the stream. Water slid over her skin, tracing the lines of her palms, rinsing flour away grain by grain. Ravi felt every subtle shift, the softness of her fingers, the way her hands relaxed into his, the trust implicit in her stillness.
 
The coolness of the water sharpened his awareness of her warmth, of the careful way his thumbs steadied her hands, attentive and unhurried.
 
It felt as though the water was washing away more than flour, washing away distance, hesitation, years of careful restraint. The soft pressure of his touch dissolved silent barriers she hadn’t known how to name.
 
Each movement was deliberate, slow, as though he were savoring the simple act of caring for her, of being allowed this closeness.
 
To Ravi, it felt intimate in the deepest sense, not because of what he wanted, but because of how fully she was letting him be here.
 
“I don’t want to pull away,” Priya thought, feeling his fingers move with such quiet devotion.
“His touch feels like… a promise. A surrender I didn’t know I was ready for.”
 
She felt the warmth of his hands through the water, steady and sure. His fingers were slightly calloused, yet incredibly gentle, treating her skin with reverence, as though this moment mattered.
 
She realized then that she wasn’t just letting him wash away the flour.
She was letting him wash away the distance she had always kept.
 
Ravi’s breath warmed the back of her neck, and she leaned into the closeness just slightly, instinctively, her body answering before thought. The subtle shift sent a quiet jolt through him, a recognition that she was choosing this too.
 
The water remained cool, but the warmth of his hands created a new rhythm in the room, a language without words, only touch, only breath.
 
Her hands were clean now, but Ravi didn’t release them immediately. His fingers lingered, steady, reassuring, as if memorizing the feel of her, the shape of this moment.
 
Neither of them spoke.
Neither pulled away.
 
They stood there, breathing in sync, the kitchen and the world beyond it suspended in this fragile, perfect moment.
 
“This is what it feels like,” Priya thought, “when something is right. When it doesn’t need to be rushed. When you can just breathe, and be. And it’s enough.”
 
Ravi stepped back slowly, just enough to let her hands fall from his, but not completely. A quiet tension remained, a shared understanding that something had shifted, something irreversible in its gentleness.
 
Priya didn’t move away. She stayed, her body still leaning slightly into his presence. There was no rush to speak.
 
Not yet.
 
It wasn’t possession.
It was permission.
 
And for the first time since everything began, neither of them was afraid of what the other felt.

-- oOo --

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[readersp]

Shailu ji, we are so immersed in the moment, that we forgot all the words to comment!!! Just living along with Priya didi and Ravi!!!

[shailu4ever]

Shailu ji, we are so immersed in the moment, that we forgot all the words to comment!!! Just living along with Priya didi and Ravi!!!

Hi readersp sir

Thank you so much for this beautiful comment. Knowing that you were so immersed in the moment that words failed you is perhaps the biggest compliment a writer can receive. If you are living along with Priya didi and Ravi, then I feel I’ve done justice to their journey.

Your support and presence mean a lot to me, sometimes silence speaks louder than words, and this silence is deeply cherished. 

Thank you for walking alongside the story and its characters.

With warm regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

The Blurred Boundaries (Not crossed.  Just tested.)
 

The moment ended before either of them chose how it would.
 
Priya was the first to move.
 
Not abruptly.
Not in fear.
Just… gently.
 
She lowered her hands, letting the water run a second longer than necessary, the coolness slipping over her fingers like a final touch, a soft punctuation to the stillness. 

The water traced familiar paths along her skin, grounding her, reminding her where she was, here, now, choosing. Then, with careful intention, she stepped half a pace forward.
 
Ravi felt the absence of her body before he consciously registered the distance.
 
The warmth that had pressed against him moments ago vanished, leaving behind a sudden coolness, an echo where her presence had been. His chest tightened instinctively, breath catching just slightly.
 
“She’s pulling away,” he thought, though there was no need to say it. He could feel it. The loss of her presence was sudden and sharp, like a note played in the wrong key, jarring not because it was wrong, but because it ended too soon.
 
He released her hands immediately.
 
No hesitation.
No attempt to keep the moment alive.
 
That mattered.
 
The decision was instinctive, almost reflexive, but it carried weight. Ravi felt it settle in his body, the conscious choice to let go, to honor the space she was creating even as every part of him resisted the separation.
His fingers curled briefly at his sides, remembering the shape of her hands, then stilled.
 
It was a subtle decision, yet the weight of it hovered in the air between them, silent, profound. Priya had moved, and he had let her. Not because he wanted her to go, but because he recognized her choice.
 
She’s allowing space, he thought, and as much as he wanted to close the distance again, to reclaim the warmth they had shared, he respected it.
 
She turned off the tap, drying her hands slowly, deliberately, as if grounding herself in the rhythm of something she knew well. The towel, the motion, the sensation of the fabric against her skin, it was all part of the familiar. 

The gentle friction steadied her breathing, anchored her body, bringing her back to the present, back to the moment where everything wasn’t so… undefined.
 
Ravi stepped back as well, giving her space without being asked. 

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[rajesh93]

Exposed Beauty of the Virgin 

Wow Shailu, what an erotic scene. Very tempting narration.

[rajesh93]

Boy!!! This is pretty heavy!!! Ball in priya didi's court!!!

Totally. This is really heavy.

[opendoor]

Priya

[shailu4ever]

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He could have stayed where he was, lingering in the space she had just vacated, but instead, he chose distance. It felt like restraint carved directly into his muscles, deliberate and necessary.
 
They stood there, close, but no longer touching.
 
The boundary had been approached.
 
And respected.
 
Priya didn’t look at him right away. Her heartbeat felt louder than the running fan, louder than the hum of the kitchen. It pulsed in her chest, insistent, as if echoing the question that had been hanging in the air between them:
 
What happens now?
 
She had allowed something intimate, invited it, really, and the realization sent a quiet tremor through her chest. The vulnerability was undeniable, settling into her bones with a strange mix of warmth and unease.
 
That could have gone further, she thought, and for the briefest moment, a thread of desire flickered within her, unbidden. And I didn’t stop it.
 
But the thought didn’t frighten her.
 
That frightened me.
 
Her mind raced, the weight of it pressing on her like the still air in the kitchen. She had made a choice.
And that choice wasn’t about pulling away because it was wrong. It was about what happens next, what would happen if she didn’t stop this now, what it would mean for both of them if she let it continue.
 
She turned, finally, meeting his eyes.
 
Ravi’s expression wasn’t hungry.
It wasn’t triumphant.
 
It was… careful.
 
As if he were asking a question without words.
 
Is this still okay?
 
The rawness of his gaze caught her breath. There was no impatience there, no claim. Only attention. Care. The consideration in his eyes told her everything, he wasn’t looking at her as a conquest, as something to possess.
He was looking at her as though waiting for her permission to exist in this moment with her, as though every action, every word from him depended on how she answered.
 
She gave a small nod, not encouragement, not retreat.
 
Acknowledgment.
 
“That’s enough for now,” she said softly, her voice steady, though a little breathless. She gestured toward the counter, needing something solid, something ordinary, to anchor them both. “We should finish cooking.”
 
Ravi nodded at once.
 
“Of course.”
 
No disappointment.
No resistance.
 
That, more than anything, told her how close they had come.
 
They returned to their tasks, but something fundamental had shifted. The air between them was not heavy, but it was alive with possibility, with a tension that hummed quietly under the surface, subtle and persistent.

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[shailu4ever]

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The kitchen no longer felt innocent.
 
Every sound, the knife against the board, the sizzle of oil, felt amplified, as if the house itself were aware of what had almost happened, of the boundary they had both felt and respected. Priya could sense it in the air around them.
The space between them was no longer neutral; it was charged with something fragile and potent, something that demanded attention even in silence.
 
Priya rolled the dough into neat portions, her movements steady again, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to them, a trembling awareness beneath her control. Her hands, precise on the dough, betrayed her thoughts.
 
I wanted him to stay there, she admitted to herself, shaping the dough with care, as though focusing on the task would quiet the storm brewing inside her. I didn’t pull away because it was wrong.
I pulled away because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t.
 
That distinction mattered.
 
She understood it now in a way she hadn’t before. She had always believed boundaries were about morality, right versus wrong. But this wasn’t about right or wrong.
 
This was about consequences.
 
If she let this continue...
If she let herself lean back again...
 
There would be no pretending afterward.
No safe anger.
No clean blame.
No easy return to “normal.”
 
She glanced at Ravi.
 
He was focused on his task, jaw set, shoulders relaxed but alert. He looked like a man holding himself still on purpose, like someone balancing on the edge of a precipice.
Every part of him was stretched taut with restraint, though there was nothing obvious in his posture to give it away. He seemed present, anchored, but also distant, like a man willing to wait, no matter how long it took.
 
He would stop if I asked, she realized.
 
And that makes this harder, not easier.
 
Because restraint chosen freely was far more dangerous than desire taken.
 
For Ravi, the fight was quieter, but no less consuming.
 
He stood there, chopping the vegetables with methodical precision, the repetitive motion giving his hands something to do while his thoughts tangled inward.
Every fiber of his being wanted to move closer, to erase the space between them, to feel her warmth again where it still lingered like a ghost against his skin.
 
His body remembered her weight against him.
His hands remembered the warmth of hers.
 
But louder than all of that was a single, steady thought:
 
She trusted me again.
 
And he would not betray that...
 
Not for relief.
Not for longing.
Not even for love, if it came to that.
 
This was the real test.
 
Not whether he wanted her.
But whether he could wait.

-- oOo --

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[RCF]

Your storytelling is a slow burn and a game of patience. One who gets immersed in the sea of emotions will truly cherish but those who cannot swim in it will get demotivated. Hence the few readers who are hooked, such story telling is rare here and wish others see the golden standard this story can set for other stories.

~RCF

[shailu4ever]

Your storytelling is a slow burn and a game of patience. One who gets immersed in the sea of emotions will truly cherish but those who cannot swim in it will get demotivated. Hence the few readers who are hooked, such story telling is rare here and wish others see the golden standard this story can set for other stories.

~RCF

Hi RCF Sir

 
Thank you so much for this deeply perceptive and generous feedback. Calling the story a slow burn and a game of patience means a lot to me, because that is exactly the emotional space I hoped to create. Not every journey is meant to be rushed—some are meant to be felt, step by step.
 
At the same time, I must admit there is a quiet disappointment when some readers are unable to follow the journey through. As a writer, it does make me pause and reflect. I am actively thinking about how I can make this story more exciting. I have added a few scenes that are intensely erotic at the same time they fit the current story flow properly. I am trying to weave in different scenes with erotic moments that might help readers move through the emotional depth more smoothly, without losing the soul of the story.
 
You are absolutely right that this kind of storytelling asks the reader to immerse themselves in a sea of emotions. Those who choose to stay and swim through it form a deep connection with the characters—and knowing that you are among those readers means a great deal to me.
 
Your encouragement and belief in the story, especially your words about it having the potential to set a golden standard, are incredibly motivating. Thank you for understanding, for staying with the story, and for giving me the confidence to keep writing with honesty and patience.
 
Once again I truly appreciate your help and support and all your ratings to keep me motivated and move forward.
 
With lots of gratitude and warm regards
 
-- Shailu
 
 

[RCF]

I understand the lack of motivation due to not many readers could cause such conflict but think about like this, every great storytelling with uniqueness will take time to be appreciated.

Readers here are used to fast paced stories with content and depth also as they turn pages they would need to see story progress between story main characters. Here the emphasis is on every emotion you create here is being explained in micro scale so the true feelings are felt by the readers which is totally different than every other story here...not every one can appreciate the steady buildup in a micro scale so do not get disappointed for the lack of too many readers. Trust me when the story gets completed, and people read it from end to end they will truly appreciate the depth of emotion in it as they might not see it while it is progressing.

~RCF

[readersp]

Agree 100% with what Mr.RCF says!!!

[shailu4ever]

The Work of Hands
(Closeness chosen. Control tested again.)
 
They worked in silence at first.
Not the awkward kind.
Not the heavy kind.
But the kind that follows something almost said, something almost taken.
 
Priya divided the dough into small portions, rolling each one between her palms with practiced ease. The motion was familiar, grounding. The dough warmed under her hands, soft and pliant, yielding to the gentle pressure she applied.
 
She focused on its texture, the rhythm of her movements, the quiet certainty of a task she had done countless times.
 
"Focus on this."
"Just this."
 
The faint dusting of flour clung to her fingers, settling in the creases of her palms. Each roll, each fold, felt like a meditation, her awareness narrowing to the sensation of elasticity, the cool resistance giving way to supple softness.
 
Her wrists flexed naturally, forearms brushing lightly against the counter, the motion becoming a choreography she no longer had to think about.
 
The faint warmth from the sun filtering through the kitchen window touched her skin, mingling with the aroma of wheat and the faintly sweet tang of dough.
 
Ravi stood beside her, dusting the counter lightly with flour, movements careful, restrained.
 
He watched her hands more than he realized, the way her fingers curved, the subtle pressure she applied with precision, shaping something simple into something nourishing.
 
A faint warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading slowly, deliberately, as if each careful gesture of hers had left an imprint on him.
 
"Don’t step closer."
"Not yet."
 
The memory of her, her mouth, the curve of her lips, the heat of her breath as it brushed his cheek earlier, rose unbidden, insistent and impossible to ignore. He swallowed, grounding himself in the scbang of flour against wood, the muted scbang of the rolling pin, the ordinary rhythm of the kitchen.
 
She rolled the first chapati flat, lifting it gently, laying it aside with precise care.
“Pan’s ready,” he said, voice steady.
She nodded without looking at him, eyes fixed on the dough.
 
The first chapati hit the hot surface with a soft sound, a whisper of contact. The kitchen filled with the faint scent of toasting flour, warm and comforting. Ravi watched it puff slightly, bubbles forming and collapsing like breath, an imperceptible dance of air and heat.
 
Their hands brushed again as she reached for the next one.
 
This time, neither of them startled.
But both of them felt it.

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[shailu4ever]

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Happy Bhoghi

Wishing you a joyful and vibrant Bhogi! May this auspicious day bring new beginnings, prosperity, and happiness to you and your loved ones. As the fire of Bhogi burns away the old and makes space for the new, may your life be filled with peace, positivity, and abundant blessings. Enjoy the warmth, the celebrations, and the time spent with family and friends.

Happy Bhogi to You All 

With Love

Shailu

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[shailu4ever]

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Priya’s breath slowed deliberately.
 
She kept her eyes on the dough even as awareness spread through her, of his nearness, of the warmth radiating from the pan, of the quiet way the air seemed to thicken when they stood too close.
 
Her fingers lingered on the dough a moment longer than necessary, savoring the tactile weight, the pliant texture, the faint vibration of energy in the kitchen.
 
"We’re doing this on purpose."
"Choosing closeness. Choosing control."
 
They fell into a rhythm.
She rolled.
He cooked.
She passed.
He flipped.
 
Each exchange brought them closer, not dramatically, not suddenly, but inch by inch, until the space between them felt intentional, charged with restraint rather than distance.
 
Flour dusted Ravi’s forearms. A faint smear marked Priya’s wrist.
 
Ordinary details, yet each one felt magnified, intimate. Even the subtle sounds of their movements, the scratch of rolling pin against counter, the soft scbang of pan on flame, the faint rustle of cloth, felt amplified, woven into the quiet tapestry of shared presence.
 
“You always make them this thin,” he said quietly.
She smiled, just a little.
“My mother said chapatis should be soft enough to fold without breaking.”
 
He glanced at her.
“And strong enough to hold everything inside?”
 
She met his eyes then.
Yes, her look said.
Exactly that.
 
They looked away at the same time.
 
More chapatis stacked on the plate, one after another, warm and waiting. The task stretched on longer than necessary, neither of them rushing it. Each finished piece felt like a small victory of restraint.
 
"We’re managing."
"We’re still managing."
 
By the time the last portion of dough was rolled, the kitchen was warm, scented with cooked bread and something else, something quieter, deeper, that hummed between them.
 
The subtle heat of the room brushed their skin, carrying with it the weight of unspoken acknowledgment, the tiny surge of longing they both resisted but could not ignore.
 
Priya reached for the final chapati. Her movements slowed, deliberate. The dough felt heavier under her hands, pliant yet resistant, each press echoing a heartbeat she hadn’t noticed until now.
 
Ravi’s chest tightened, the ache of anticipation threading through him, each moment stretching longer, sweetly unbearable.
 
He finished cooking the last chapati, set it aside, and turned off the stove. The sudden quiet was almost shocking, the absence of sizzle, the pause after motion.

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[Strangerstf]

Great narration and it's great that they both agreed that something is happening!!!

Thank you for your continuous efforts, ma'am and a very happy Sankranti to you.

[shailu4ever]

Great narration and it's great that they both agreed that something is happening!!!

Thank you for your continuous efforts, ma'am and a very happy Sankranti to you.

Hi Strangerstf

Thank you so much for your compliments. I'm really glad to hear that the narration resonated well with you, and it's wonderful that they both acknowledged what's unfolding. Your feedback means a lot to me.


Wishing you a very happy Sankranti as well! May this festival bring you joy, prosperity, and warmth.

Thank you once again for your continuous support.

With warm regards

-- Shailu