Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

The party was finally over.
The sounds lingered. Laughter, clinking plates, the sugary smell of cake, the fake smile I’d worn around aunties asking pointless questions — it all stuck to my skin like the faint shimmer of the gown I had just taken off.
The lift ride home was quiet.
Kartik held the return gifts.
One of the boys was passed out on his shoulder. The other… barely awake but clutching his balloon like it was treasure.
We reached home around 9:30.
The smell of rasam still floated faintly in the air. A bit of perfume too — mine.
The kind that clings to the fabric and reminds you of the version of yourself you don’t see often.
I placed the gift bags on the table, slipped out of my sandals, and stood still for a second.
The house looked the same.
But something inside me had shifted.
Small. Quiet. But real.
“Boys, go brush your teeth. Tomorrow’s a holiday, but don’t sleep without brushing. And don’t say you’re hungry after lights off.”
They grumbled but moved. One dropped straight onto the sofa and didn’t get up.

---

I went to change.
The gown came off slow, like silk sliding off memory.
It was damp around the waist. From sweat… or from how turned on I’d been since evening, I wasn’t sure.
The fabric still smelled faintly of my skin. My arousal.
I folded it gently and set it on the edge of the shelf like something fragile.
Slipped into my nightie.
Cotton. Loose. Soft.
The neckline didn’t hug my breasts. The fabric floated instead of holding.
Safe.
But… boring.
I checked on the boys.
One was snoring, open-mouthed.
The other was curled into a ball, still shifting restlessly.
I sat beside him. Ran my fingers through his hair.
Hummed something without knowing what song it was.

---

Kartik was in the study.
Laptop open. Headset on.
“One last call,” he’d said.
I didn’t even reply.
Just nodded.
It didn’t need words. It never did.
I turned off the ceiling light, left the bedside lamp glowing.
That familiar yellow warmth painted the walls like memory.
I slid under the blanket.
Turned to one side.
Adjusted my pillow.
Listened to the night.
But I couldn’t sleep.

---

My eyes were heavy, but my body was not at peace.
I was still replaying everything.
Every glance. Every whisper. Every flick of someone’s eyes on my thighs.
The way the gown hugged my breasts, the slight bounce as I walked.
The air brushing my bare arms.
I had felt… present.
Alive.
And people had noticed.
Some women stared. One aunty whispered something near the samosas.
Was it about me?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But the way a man’s eyes flick down your cleavage before pretending to look away?
That wasn’t imagination.
And Kartik…
He didn’t say anything.
Not during the party.
Not after.
Not now.
Just that one pause earlier. That hesitation.
Did he like it?
Was he aroused?
Or confused?
He didn’t touch me.
Didn’t sit close at the party.
Didn’t glance again once we got home.

---

And here I am, lying under a soft blanket… but my nipples still hard.
Still aching.
God, I want someone to bite them.
To suck, not just grab. Lick like they belong to him.
I want my boobs treated like something other than background furniture.
My pussy was wet during the entire party.
No one knew. No one saw.
But I could feel it.
I was dripping inside that gown.
Every step made my inner thighs brush against each other.
Every smile I gave was hiding a throbbing between my legs.

---

Now I’m in this nightie.
Cotton. Soft. Loose.
And still…
I can feel it.
That slow pull. That needy pulse.
I want fingers. Not mine.
I want a tongue.
I want someone to spread my legs and ask, "Do you want more?"
And not stop until my moan fills the room.

---

But I lie here. Silent.
Because this isn’t about sex.
Not completely.
It’s about that flicker.
That version of me in the mirror.
Wearing that gown.
Feeling like a fucking goddess.
Not a pillow.
Not a servant.
Not just "Wife or Mother"
But a woman with curves, scent, hunger.
And she’s not going back to sleep so easily.

---

I pull the blanket higher.
Try to shut my thighs.
But it’s too late.
The heat is awake.
The ache is real.
And deep down, I know...

Tonight didn’t end at the party.
It’s just beginning inside me.