Adultery Broken trust and suppressed lust

[Zoz34]

Scene: Afrah’s Room - 

Lying on her bed, Afrah felt the images of Vishal flood her mind, refusing to fade away. His handsome features—strong jawline, piercing eyes, and that confident smile—were etched vividly in her memory. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from him, the masculinity that seemed to envelop her like a thick mist, intoxicating and alluring. 




The way he had touched her sent shivers down her spine. His hands, firm yet gentle, had traced the contours of her waist, igniting a desire that coursed through her like wildfire. The kiss, oh, the kiss—it had been electric, hungry, a desperate collision of lips that left her breathless. The taste of him lingered on her tongue, a sweet reminder of the passionate moment they had shared. 

She yearned for the kind of intimacy that felt both thrilling and taboo, and her thoughts drifted back to the tantalizing kiss. *What would it be like to let go completely? To embrace those urges?*

Afrah shook her head, trying to dismiss the way her body responded to the memories—how her heart raced, how she felt alive. *This isn’t me,* she thought, wrestling with the conflicting parts of herself. She was a good girl, destined to marry Sohail, the one everyone expected her to be. But what if there was another side to her, waiting to break free? 

The silence of the room was deafening, and as she lay back on her bed, she closed her eyes, succumbing to the whirlpool of emotions. The visions of that night danced behind her eyelids, igniting her imagination. She longed to explore, to experience, to be free of the constraints she felt suffocated by. 

Afrah squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to regain control over her racing thoughts. But as she breathed deeply, she felt the heat pooling in her core, a steady thrum that demanded her attention. Her body betrayed her, responding to the memories with a fervor she couldn’t ignore.
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Her hand moved almost involuntarily, slowly tracing down her side, fingers skimming the fabric of her dress. The sensation sent another rush of heat through her, igniting the fire within. *No, not now,* she thought, shaking her head as if to dispel the temptation. 

But it was too late. The images were too vivid, too enticing. Vishal’s hands on her skin, his lips devouring hers—it was all consuming. She could almost hear his voice, low and sultry, whispering sweet nothings as they danced, the way he’d made her feel cherished yet wild.

As her fingers continued their downward path, she felt her breath hitch. *This isn’t right,* she thought, but the more she tried to suppress her desires, the more they surged, like waves crashing against a shore, relentless and overpowering. 
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*Why can’t I just let go?* The question echoed in her mind, and for a moment, she found herself teetering on the edge of surrender, caught between her responsibilities and the intoxicating allure of what she truly wanted.

Afrah bit her lip, struggling to regain her composure. She had to remember who she was and what was at stake. But the image of Vishal, his hands on her body, his kiss igniting her senses, lingered just out of reach, teasing her, daring her to cross the line. 

With a frustrated sigh, she pulled herself back, she got up her bed .She whisked her curtain closed, drawing it halfway so her side of the room was in shade. Looked down at the quad again, then her hands came behind her, fingers working the clasp of her bra. Her breasts poked up over the cup as it released, then she let it slip off her shoulders and down her arms. Afrah good size breast not too small not large had pretty breasts. beautifully shaped, upright and soft with the brown nipples that grew cherry at the tips. Her nipples swelled when they were released, the shapes of them stretching away from her breast. Thumbs hooked in the sides of her panties and she slid them down her legs and stepped out of them. Did she ever think about her fiancé when she masturbated? She sat one cheek down on her bare bed and pulled her legs. . Her hand went up and down her thigh, pressing her flesh, the sound of her skinon-skin heard .Her up-strokes got higher and then her fingers worked their way between her legs. Afrah was proudly unshaven down there. A dense and fruity patch between her legs. Dark hair in wisps, growing in a curve towards her center. 

 She stared at the darkness and imagine and her index finger curled, stroking at herself. She sighed,. This was bad. . She would murder him. This was so, so wrong . She pushed her head into her pillow, her body low, her chin tucked into her collar. Her legs went open, the outside of her thighs coming to rest on her bed. Her feet drew up, her heels almost touching, spread like a frog. She closed her eyes and sucked her lips under her teeth. One hand pulled up on her mound, fingers tugging the soft flesh there, angling it, while her other hand lay across her thatch of hair. Her index finger and her pinky arcing away from her delicate hand while her two middle fingers stroked the center of her sex.



Her fingers worked up and down, making wet sounds now. Her legs moved on the sheets, her other hand swept up and smoothed over her tummy, drawing in tight now, forming a concave shallow. Her breaths grew quicker, soft sounds scbanging the back of her throat and huffing out her nose

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. She hooked her middle finger and penetrated herself, her hand worked in circles, her finger plunging and stroking, swiping up and buzzing over her own clit. She squeezed and played with her own breasts. Her pretty hand rolling and tweaking her nipple, playing with its shape. As she got wetter, the smacking sounds of her pink flesh being worked got louder. Her lips parted and her breaths gasped from her. Her legs opened and closed slowly as her gasps turned to light moans and her finger worked stronger, going like mad, buried in her flesh and mushing on her button. Her moans grew louder still, the slick sounds faster, and she thrust her hips to push her sex against her own manipulations. “Oh, oh,” she sighed as she got close. Her scalp tingled, her own heart raced. She tightened suddenly, drew a long breath of air that hissed through her nostrils, her legs coming together but not closing. “Aw, oh, aw, mm, mm...” She made high breathy sounds of satisfaction as she brought herself to orgasm thinking about Vishal. . She didn't stop, her flat hand now smoothing up and down her patch, her folds slipping in the creases of her fingers. 

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She sighed then and laughed, her eyes still closed. Drew her legs up, turned them to the side and lay on her hip, her bare ass facing him. She was looking at her mirror again. Afrah got herself off the bed. Her heart-rate subsided and remorse washed in. What had she done? That was so wrong. That wasn’t her. What was happening to her? She’d been fighting it. Fighting her thoughts of Vishal. But she couldn’t help herself. “Fuck,” she whispered, squinting and hunching forward. If Ammi found out? ... Fuck. If ammi had walked in... She shook her head savagely, her hair scratching at her shoulders. She roared, snarled and pushed those thoughts away. “No, no, no,” she cried. She thrust herself into motion. She whipped her drawer open and pulled out fresh panties, a shirt, some shorts. Got dressed. Her hands shook as she pulled her shorts up. “No,” she said to her empty room. “No,” she repeated. 

As Afrah lay on her bed, the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her. She felt a surge of confusion mixed with desire. The tantalizing memory of Vishal lingered, taunting her as she fought against the pull he had over her.


In the morning with her mind clear.

*I need to limit my interactions with him,* she resolved, clenching her fists. *This isn’t healthy.* The last time she’d thought the same, she had found herself flirting with him, drawn to his dangerously seductive charm like a moth to a flame. 

But why was she so captivated by him? Unlike Sohail, who represented safety and predictability, Vishal exuded an intoxicating confidence that ignited something deep within her. He was the embodiment of masculinity—strong, assertive, and completely unafraid to take what he wanted. The way he moved, the way he spoke, made her heart race in a way she had never experienced before. 

Vishal had an aura that demanded attention, and despite her efforts to dismiss it, she found herself drawn to him like a magnet. *What is it about him?* she pondered, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Was it the thrill of danger, the allure of the forbidden? With him, she felt alive, awakened in a way that she hadn’t with anyone else.

Afrah bit her lip, struggling to regain her composure. She had to remember who she was and what was at stake. Her family was known for their piety and respectability; her mother was a revered woman in their community, admired for her devout nature, while her father held similar values, viewing her as the epitome of innocence and modesty.

If they were to discover her feelings for Vishal, the consequences would be dire. The taboo nature of her attraction made it all the more thrilling, yet frightening. The thought of her mother’s disappointment, or her father’s stern gaze, sent shivers of dread down her spine. The idea of them knowing she craved something so forbidden only heightened her arousal.

Every moment they had spent together replayed in her mind—his playful teasing, the way he had looked at her with that hungry gaze, and the thrill of their dance. It was all intoxicating, and she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her, even if it scared her.


But that was exactly the problem. With Vishal, she felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t ready to confront. Unlike the stable ground Sohail provided, Vishal felt like quicksand—exciting yet dangerous. 

*I have to focus on my work,* she reminded herself, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. *I can’t let this attraction derail me.* 

Yet, even as she made the decision, a small part of her wondered if she could truly resist the temptation he represented. The contrast between the safety of Sohail and the thrill of Vishal left her questioning everything she thought she knew about herself and what she wanted.



 Vishal’s pov:

Vishal leaned back in his office chair, a wicked smile creeping across his face as he considered his next move. The past couple of days had been a game of cat and mouse, with Afrah skillfully dodging his advances. But he found it amusing; the challenge only fueled his desire. He was determined to bring the vixen out of her, to peel away the layers of innocence she wore like armor.

He recalled their last encounter—the way she’d blushed under his gaze, how her body had responded to his every touch. There was a fire in her that she was clearly trying to suppress, and he intended to ignite it. The thrill of seducing her made his pulse quicken. He imagined her—Afrah, the poised and seemingly demure girl—transformed into someone bold, someone who embraced her desires without fear.

He thought about how taboo their connection felt, especially given her family's reputation. Her mother, a pillar of the community, was known for her piety, while her father saw her as the epitome of modesty. The thought of what would happen if they discovered her secret interactions with him sent a thrill through him. That was the exciting part—the danger, the forbidden nature of it all.

Vishal decided that it was time to up the ante. He planned a casual office gathering, an event where he could manipulate the environment to his advantage. He would make sure to position himself close to her, allowing their chemistry to bubble over. He envisioned whispering provocations, teasing her in ways that would draw out the more daring side of her personality.

*She has to let go,* he thought. *I want to see her wild side, the one she hides so well.* 

As the hours ticked by, Vishal plotted his moves carefully, imagining the moment he could finally break through her defenses. He could almost taste the anticipation, the thrill of the chase invigorating him. The vixen was in there somewhere, and he was determined to coax her out, one playful jab and sultry glance at a time. 

Afrah pov:


Afrah’s internal battle was relentless, a storm she could barely contain. Each time she crossed paths with Vishal at the office, a spark ignited within her—her heart racing, torn between guilt and desire. Her engagement, the community’s expectations, and her parents' trust weighed on her like a heavy burden. The image of her father’s proud smile, her mother’s unwavering piety—how could she even think of betraying all that?

But no matter how hard she tried to stay grounded, something deeper kept bubbling up, something that felt even stronger than the voices of her conscience. It was the way Vishal’s eyes always seemed to linger on her, the subtle smirk that made her stomach flip. *Does he know what he’s doing to me?* she wondered. It was maddening—how a single look from him could unravel all her careful resolve. 

And then there was the memory of his touch. It haunted her, replaying over and over in her mind like a forbidden dream. That kiss—so sudden, so intense—had awakened something she hadn’t realized was there. *I should feel ashamed,* she thought, but instead, her body betrayed her, responding with a heat that burned even when she was supposed to be focused on work. 

Even here, in the office, surrounded by her colleagues, she could still feel his hands tracing her skin, his lips against hers, their bodies pressed together in that dark corner. Every glance she stole at him sent a rush of warmth through her, and no matter how much she told herself to stop, her thoughts spiraled back to that night. 

*I have to control myself,* Afrah kept repeating, gripping the edge of her desk in frustration. But how could she? How could she control the surge of feelings that flooded her every time she saw him? The way he moved, his confident, commanding presence—it made her forget herself, forget everything she was supposed to be. 

Her fingers grazed her lips absentmindedly, as though she could still feel the ghost of that kiss. She thought of her engagement, of Sohail—*I’m engaged. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t even be thinking like this.* But then her gaze would drift back to Vishal, and the guilt would fade, replaced by an intense, undeniable pull.

*He’s dangerous,* she told herself. *He’s everything I shouldn’t want.* Yet, the way he made her feel—like she was the only woman in the world when he looked at her—was intoxicating. And the truth was, a part of her didn’t want to resist anymore. The allure of it all, the forbidden nature of what they had—it was like a drug, and she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from taking another hit. 

As she glanced up again and saw him across the room, that same infuriating smirk playing on his lips, Afrah’s heart raced faster. *What is he thinking?* she wondered, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her body. The thought of his hands on her again, of that kiss… it made her pulse quicken, her breath hitch.

*I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him.* But the truth was undeniable: she did. And that scared her more than anything else.


Afrah was on fire. Every time her mind drifted to Vishal, an uncontrollable heat flared within her, consuming her thoughts. She could still feel his touch—his hands tracing her skin, his lips devouring hers, as though her body was still marked by him. Her pulse raced, and a warm, tingling sensation pooled low in her belly, intensifying with each memory of that kiss.

She squeezed her thighs together under her desk, trying to stifle the throbbing desire building inside her, but it was useless. Her skin felt too tight, her breath shallow. It was as though her entire body was attuned to him, craving his presence, the sensation of his touch lingering, making her pulse quicken even more.

Her mind kept replaying every vivid detail—his hands on her waist, his breath on her neck, the way his body pressed against hers. She was restless, her body betraying her with each passing thought. A deep ache stirred inside her, spreading through her, making her heart pound in a way that felt almost unbearable.

*Control yourself,* she told herself, but the more she tried to resist, the more her body screamed for release. Her fingers twitched, wanting to trace the places where his touch had been, where she could still feel the heat of his hands. Her breathing grew heavier, and she bit her lip, desperate to contain the overwhelming surge of lust.

No matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else, her thoughts kept circling back to him. The memory of his hands on her bare skin sent a wave of arousal through her, making her chest tighten, her body craving something she didn’t want to admit to. She was drowning in desire, and no matter how much she tried to control it, she couldn’t stop the heat from rising within her.


Afrah jolted out of her heated thoughts when a colleague casually mentioned, "Hey, Afrah, Vishal's calling you to his cabin. ." The words hit her like a cold splash of water, pulling her back to reality.

Her heart raced, but for different reasons now. *Focus,* she told herself. *Don’t talk about that night. Don’t even think about it.* She stood up, trying to steady her breath, forcing herself to act normal.

But as she made her way to Vishal's cabin, her conflicting emotions came flooding back. The attraction, the arousal, the forbidden nature of it all—it was overwhelming. She tried to focus on her engagement, on her family, on everything that made this wrong. Yet, the memory of his touch, his lips, and that smirk he always gave her played on repeat in her mind. *Don’t let him get to you,* she repeated like a mantra.

Still, with each step closer to his cabin, her body betrayed her, heart pounding in anticipation, fingers tingling, and the heat rising once more.