Adultery The Aarogya Wellness and Intimacy Clinic

[prasannas2001]

Lovely

Thank you so much

[rajesh93]

Super updates

[ananth1986]

Can't wait.
Thank you.
As like your first story this one also amazing

[Sarran Raj]

Very good

[prasannas2001]

Super updates

Thank you so much

[prasannas2001]

Can't wait.
Thank you.
As like your first story this one also amazing

 
 
 
Thank you so much for your support and encouragement 

 
 
 

[prasannas2001]

Very good

 
 
 
 
Thank you so much 
 
 
 
 
 

[prasannas2001]

 



The head of his dick, thick and smooth, nudged against her slick folds, pressing gently against the tight opening.
 
It was an amazing feeling.
 
He was very anxious to see how it is going to feel. 
 
He pushed his dick little bit…
 
She froze.
 
Her entire body went rigid.
 
Her hands, which had been resting limply at her sides, clenched into fists.
 
Her eyes were wide, locked on his, a silent plea and a silent acceptance warring within their depths.
 
The pressure was immense, a foreign fullness that promised both pain and an unknown pleasure.
 
She held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs, waiting for the moment he would claim her completely.
 
She froze.
 
It was not coy.
 
It was not nervous.
 
It was terror, raw, animal terror, as though she had just seen something terrible on the far side of the room.
 
Her whole body went rigid, a wire pulled too tight.
 
Her hands came up between them, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either, just there, a barrier.
 
Her pupils were huge.
 
Her breathing had stopped.
 
He stopped immediately.
 
"Hey," he said, softly.
 
"Hey. It's okay."
 
She didn't respond.
 
She was somewhere else.
 
Somewhere he couldn't reach.
 
"I'm going to step back," he said, his voice low and calm.
 
"I'm going to step back, and nothing is going to happen that you don't want. Okay? Nothing."
 
He took a step back.
 
Then another.
 
He held his hands up, palms open, a man surrendering.
 
She stood there, trembling, her arms wrapped around herself now, covering what she could.
 
She looked small.
 
She looked terrified.
 
She looked nothing like the woman who had smiled at him just minutes ago.
 
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
 
Her voice cracked.
 
"I'm sorry. I thought… I thought I could, "
 
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
 
"I wanted to. I do want to. I just… "
 
"Seema." He said her name gently, firmly.
 
"It's okay. We don't have to do anything… "
 
"We don't have to do anything tonight, or tomorrow, or next week."
 
"We have time."
 
"We have all the time in the world."
 
She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded.
 
But he could see the shame in her face, the self-loathing, the belief that she had failed him somehow, and it broke his heart.
 

[prasannas2001]

 

 
 
Naveen found his shirt, held it out to her.
 
"Here," he said.
 
"Put this on."
 
She took it, confused.
 
"What, "
 
"Put it on. And then come here."
 
She did.
 
She pulled the shirt over her head, it hung to her thighs, soft and worn and smelling of him, and she came to him, hesitant, uncertain.
 
He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, and he held her the way he had held her before, wrapping her in his warmth, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
 
They stood like that for a long time.
 
The city hummed beyond the windows.
 
The rose petals lay scattered across the bed.
 
And Naveen held his wife, feeling her heartbeat slow against his chest and her breasts pressing his chest.
 
He could feel the firmness of those full breasts against his chest.
 
He told himself that this was enough.
 
This was more than enough.
 
This was everything.
 
He didn't know what was wrong.
 
He didn't know why she was afraid.
 
But he knew one thing, with a certainty that went beyond words:
 
He would wait.
 
He would wait forever if he had to.
 
They stayed like that for a long time.
 
Minutes, or hours, he couldn't tell.
 
The city outside grew quieter, the lights dimming one by one as Hyderabad settled into sleep.
 
The rose petals on the bed seemed to darken in the low light, their edges curling, their scent fading into something softer, more melancholy.
 
Eventually, she pulled back.
 
Just a little.
 
Just enough to look up at him.
 
"I'm tired," she said.
 
Her voice was small, raw.
 
"Can we, can we just sleep?"
 
"Of course."
 
He led her to the bed.
 
He pulled back the covers, and she climbed in, her body disappearing beneath the white sheets, his shirt is lose on her, it is riding up to reveal a sliver of her thigh.
 
He turned off the lamp on his side, then walked around to hers and turned off that one too.
 
The room fell into darkness, lit only by the pale glow of the city pressing against the windows.
 
He climbed in beside her.
 
He kept a careful distance, a hand's width between their bodies, and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
 
"Goodnight," he said.
 
"Goodnight."
 
Silence

[poorangyan]

Very well-written.

[prasannas2001]

Very well-written.

 
 
 
 Thank you so much 

 
 
 
 

[prasannas2001]

 

 
 
Naveen lay there, his mind churning.
 
What had just happened?
What did it mean?
Was it him?
 
Was it something she hadn't told him?
 
Had he done something wrong, moved too fast, expected too much?
 
He replayed the evening in his head, searching for the moment it had gone wrong.
 
The kiss.
 
The hug.
 
The way she had let him undress her, slowly, piece by piece.
 
The way she had stood there, bare and beautiful, letting him look.
 
She had wanted it.
 
He was sure she had wanted it.
 
And then,
 
Nothing.
 
Terror.
 
A wall he hadn't seen coming.
 
He didn't know what to do.
 
He didn't know how to fix it.
 
He only knew that his wife was a foot away from him, and she was crying, he could hear it now, the soft, suppressed sound of it, the way she was trying to hide it from him, and he couldn't reach her.
 
He wanted to reach for her.
 
He wanted to pull her close and hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.
 
But he was afraid.
 
Afraid that if he touched her, she would flinch.
 
Afraid that if he spoke, she would stop crying and pretend to be fine, and he would lose the only window he had into what she was feeling.
 
So he did nothing.
 
He lay there, listening to her cry, and felt his own heart break a little.
 
And eventually, without meaning to, without wanting to, he fell asleep.
 
Seema waited.
 
She waited until his breathing went deep and even, until the small sounds of the city outside faded into a background hum, until the only thing in the world was the dark and the weight of her own shame pressing down on her chest.
 
Then she cried.
 
She cried without sound, the way she had learned to cry as a child, mouth open, face contorted, but no noise.
 
No noise at all.
 
Because noise brought attention, and attention brought questions, and questions brought nothing but pain.
 
She had ruined it.
 
She had ruined the one good thing she had ever had.
 
Naveen was good.
 
Naveen was kind.
 
Naveen was everything she had hoped for and more, and she had seen it in his eyes when he stepped back and held up his hands and told her that nothing was going to happen that she didn't want.
 

[prasannas2001]

 

Naveen had looked at her with such patience, such tenderness, and she had felt something inside her crack open, something that had been frozen for so long she had forgotten it was there.
 
She wanted him.
 
She wanted him.
 
She wanted to be a good wife, a normal wife, a wife who could give her husband pleasure and children and a life that looked like everyone else's life.
 
But her body would not obey.
 
It never had.
 
Not when she was fourteen and a boy had tried to kiss her at a cousin's wedding, not when she was nineteen and a college classmate had put his hand on her knee in the dark of a cinema hall.
 
Not even when she touched herself, in the privacy of her own room, in the years before the wedding, even then, her body had refused to give her what she wanted.
 
It was as if there was a wall inside her, a locked door, and she had lost the key so long ago that she no longer remembered what it looked like.
 
She didn't know why.
 
That was the worst part.
 
She had no reason, no memory, no moment of violation she could point to and say there, that's where it happened.
 
There was only a vague, shadowy fear that lived in her chest, a fear with no name and no face, and it woke up every time someone came too close.
 
She had hoped, God, she had hoped, that marriage would change it.
 
That Naveen's gentle hands, his patient eyes, his infinite kindness would be enough to melt the ice inside her.
 
That she would become someone else, someone normal, someone who could lie with her husband without feeling like she was drowning.
 
But she hadn't changed.
 
And now he knew.
 
He knew, and he was still here, and that was somehow worse, because it meant she would have to face him in the morning.
 
She would have to look into his kind eyes and see the disappointment he was too polite to show.
 
She would have to sit across from him at breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened, that she was fine, that they were fine.
 
She couldn't do it.
 
She couldn't.
 
She turned her head on the pillow, looked at the dark shape of him beside her.
 
He slept on his back, one arm flung above his head, his breathing deep and untroubled.
 
He looked peaceful.

[prasannas2001]

 

 
Naveen had looked at her with such patience, such tenderness, and she had felt something inside her crack open, something that had been frozen for so long she had forgotten it was there.
 
She wanted him.
 
She wanted him.
 
She wanted to be a good wife, a normal wife, a wife who could give her husband pleasure and children and a life that looked like everyone else's life.
 
But her body would not obey.
 
It never had.
 
Not when she was fourteen and a boy had tried to kiss her at a cousin's wedding, not when she was nineteen and a college classmate had put his hand on her knee in the dark of a cinema hall.
 
Not even when she touched herself, in the privacy of her own room, in the years before the wedding, even then, her body had refused to give her what she wanted.
 
It was as if there was a wall inside her, a locked door, and she had lost the key so long ago that she no longer remembered what it looked like.
 
She didn't know why.
 
That was the worst part.
 
She had no reason, no memory, no moment of violation she could point to and say there, that's where it happened.
 
There was only a vague, shadowy fear that lived in her chest, a fear with no name and no face, and it woke up every time someone came too close.
 
She had hoped, God, she had hoped, that marriage would change it.
 
That Naveen's gentle hands, his patient eyes, his infinite kindness would be enough to melt the ice inside her.
 
That she would become someone else, someone normal, someone who could lie with her husband without feeling like she was drowning.
 
But she hadn't changed.
 
And now he knew.
 
He knew, and he was still here, and that was somehow worse, because it meant she would have to face him in the morning.
 
She would have to look into his kind eyes and see the disappointment he was too polite to show.
 
She would have to sit across from him at breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened, that she was fine, that they were fine.
 
She couldn't do it.
 
She couldn't.
 
She turned her head on the pillow, looked at the dark shape of him beside her.
 
He slept on his back, one arm flung above his head, his breathing deep and untroubled.
 
He looked peaceful.

[prasannas2001]

 

 
 
Naveen looked like a man who had no idea that his wife was lying next to him, drowning in a sea of her own inadequacy.
 
She loved him.
 
That was the cruelest part.
 
She loved him, and she couldn't give herself to him, and she didn't know why.
 
The tears came harder.
 
She pressed her palm to her mouth, bit down on the flesh of her own hand to keep silent.
 
The pain was a kind of relief, a point of focus in the chaos of her thoughts.
 
She thought about her mother, who had told her nothing about what to expect on her wedding night.
 
She thought about her friends, all of whom seemed to have managed this transition from girl to woman without any trouble.
 
She thought about the word the doctor would probably use, the word she had already used in her own head a hundred times: frigid.
 
Cold.
 
Broken.
 
Inadequate.
 
She was inadequate.
 
That was the truth.
 
She was less than what a wife should be.
 
The night stretched on.
 
The city outside grew quiet.
 
And Seema lay awake, her hand pressed against her mouth, her body rigid with shame, and waited for the morning that would bring everything into the light.
 
She didn't know what she would do when it came.
 
She only knew she couldn't go on like this.
 
The next morning, Naveen woke first.
 
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, gold and warm, catching the rose petals scattered across the bed like confetti at the end of a party.
 
He lay still for a moment, orienting himself, the unfamiliar ceiling, the soft sheets, the faint scent of jasmine.
 
Then he remembered.
 
And he turned his head.
 
Seema was curled on her side, facing away from him, her body a small, protective shape under the covers.
 
She was wearing his t-shirt, the collar slipping down one shoulder, and he could see the delicate curve of her neck, the small mole behind her ear that he had noticed for the first time on their second date and had been secretly, absurdly fond of ever since.
 
He wanted to reach out and touch her.
 
He wanted to smooth her hair back from her face and tell her it was okay, that he didn't care about last night, that he loved her and he would wait forever if he had to.
 
But he didn't.
 
Because he had a feeling she was awake, and he had a feeling she was pretending not to be, and he didn't want to force her into a conversation she wasn't ready to have.
 
So he got up as quietly as he could, padded to the bathroom, closed the door behind him.
 

[prasannas2001]

 

 
 
Naveen stood in front of the mirror and looked at his own face, tired, rumpled, faintly ridiculous in his rumpled pajamas.
 
He had imagined this morning differently.
 
He had imagined waking up next to her, both of them sticky and content, her hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo, a lazy smile on her lips.
 
He had imagined the future starting here, in this room, in this bed.
 
Instead he was standing in a hotel bathroom, alone, trying to figure out how to tell his wife that everything was going to be okay when he wasn't sure it was.
 
He splashed water on his face.
 
He brushed his teeth.
 
He ran his hands through his hair and told himself that this was just a bump in the road, that all marriages had their challenges, that patience was the answer.
 
He was good at patience.
 
He had practiced it all his life.
 
He opened the door.
 
Seema was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled to her chin.
 
She looked small and fragile and impossibly lovely, and she looked terrified.
 
"Good morning," he said.
 
"Good morning."
 
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep distance between them.
 
"How did you sleep?"
 
"Fine," she said.
 
A lie.
 
They both knew it.
 
"Seema, "
 
"Naveen, "
 
They spoke at the same time, stopped at the same time.
 
A small, nervous laugh from her.
 
He smiled.
 
"You first," he said.
 
She shook her head.
 
"No, you."
 
He took a breath.
 
"I just wanted to say, last night doesn't matter."
 
"I mean, it matters, because it happened, and because I want to understand."
 
"But it doesn't change anything."
 
"I'm not angry."
 
"I'm not disappointed. I'm not going anywhere."
 
"Okay?"
 
She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded.
 
"Okay."
 
"And we'll figure it out," he said.
 
"Together. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."
 
She nodded again.
 
He wanted to kiss her.
 
He wanted to lean forward and press his lips to her forehead and tell her, with his body, what he had just told her with his words.
 
But he didn't.
 
Because he didn't want to see her flinch, and he was afraid she would.
 
Instead he stood up and said, "I'm going to order breakfast. Do you want anything specific?"
 
She shook her head.
 
"Anything. Whatever you're having."
 
He nodded and went to find his phone.
 
And Seema sat in bed, watching him, her heart breaking in a way she couldn't explain, a way she couldn't put into words.
 
She had married the kindest man she had ever known.
 
And she was already failing him.
 
 

[Chitrarassu]

Awesome

[Rizzi1198]

Good start

[jiljilrani]

Very slow. Did she had a child abuse to worry

[prasannas2001]

Awesome

 
 
 
 
Thank you so much