Adultery A SOUTH INDIAN WIFE'S -Unspoken Flames

[thirddemodreamer]

A Comfortable Routine Takes Shape

The next morning, Vanitha woke gently—soft sunlight slipped through the bedroom curtains, brushing her face, stirring her awake. She rose, straightened the bed, and walked to the kitchen, where her mother-in-law, Maithili, was already busy. Steam from hot idlis spread over the dosa griddle, a faint coconut chutney aroma filling the room. Maithili, in a brown saree, hair in a tight bun, held a ladle.
Maithili: "Vanitha, you’re up? Get ready for the office. I’ll handle everything here," she said with a warm smile, her voice firm yet caring.
Vanitha beamed.
Vanitha: "Alright, Amma, thank you so much," she replied, feeling a quiet relief—her heart lightened, her smile slowly returning.
She headed back to the bathroom, closing the door. Inside, white tiles gleamed in the morning light—she slipped off her red nightie, grabbed a cotton towel, and filled a bucket with hot water. Steam rose, fogging the mirror—she untied the towel, standing bare, and scooped water, pouring it over her shoulders. Warm water rolled down her back, grazed her breasts, and flowed to her navel, sparking a shiver—her skin shimmered faintly, warm to the touch. She ran fingers through her hair, washing it with shampoo’s gentle scent, and scrubbed her body with new soap—bubbles circled her breasts, brushed her waist, and softened her thighs. Her hands glided over her skin, savoring a deep calm—the bath refreshed her, easing her mind. Drying off with a soft hum, she reached for her clothes.
She slipped on pale pink underwear—the panties’ thin fabric hugged her pussy, wrapping her thighs snugly; her hips curved softly, the fabric lifting them into a graceful shape. Then, she fastened a black bra, covering her breasts, adjusting the straps—its hold lifted them, crafting a firm, glossy curve. She chose a light blue cotton saree, dbanging it carefully—its delicate fabric clung to her waist, leaving her navel slightly exposed; the small, round dip glowed against her radiant skin. She pulled the saree over her shoulder, folding it neatly for elegance—her body shone with gentle curves, radiant in the fabric. Tying her hair in a small bun, she spritzed perfume, grabbed her bag, and stepped out.
At the dining table, Vinith sat with a coffee mug, reading the paper.
Vanitha: "Bye, Vinith," she said with a smile.
Vinith: "Bye, Vani, take care," he replied, offering a small grin.
She stopped by the kitchen.
Vanitha: "Amma, I’m heading out."
Maithili: "Alright, Vanitha, be careful," she said with a fond glance, seeing her off.
Vanitha climbed into the cab, bound for the quarters—the morning breeze nudged her saree, sparking a quiet thrill. At the quarters, Mani and Sumithra waited outside—Mani in a worn blue shirt with a small bag, Sumithra in a yellow saree, holding a little basket.
Vanitha stepped inside.
Vanitha: "Mani, are the files ready?"
Mani placed a stack on the desk.
Mani: "Yes, madam."
Vanitha flipped through them.
Vanitha: "Good," she said, settling in.
She sat, powered on the computer, and began reading files with a soft murmur. The day flowed as usual—at noon, she ate lunch with Sumithra, chatting lightly; in the evening, she handed Mani completed files, listed needs for the next day, and headed home.
This rhythm held for three days—each morning, Maithili managed the house, prepping Vanitha for work; Vanitha bathed in soothing calm, dressed freshly, and tackled her tasks at the quarters. Sumithra and Mani supported her—Sumithra brought breakfast, ate with her, and talked warmly; Mani fetched files, stole glances but stayed respectful. At home, Vinith and Maithili cared for the kids, freeing Vanitha’s mind—peace bloomed quietly, as she dove into work, slowly letting past memories fade.